


Touching Wild Light

by fadewithfury (foxmoon)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Timelines, Artist Rose Tyler, Assumed Relationship, Bad Wolf, Canon Divergence, DW 50th Anniversary Fix-it, Dimension Cannon, Episode Fix-It: s04e17-18 The End of Time, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Heavy Angst, Holigram Rose, Mental Link, Metacrisis Rose - Freeform, Romance, Romantic Angst, Sharing a Bed, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, The Moment - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 91,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmoon/pseuds/fadewithfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose appears before the Doctor's eyes as he’s regenerating, and he acquiesces to her request to save him. When the dust settles, he discovers that she's not who he thought she was--and she's about to explode. In an effort to save her, a metacrisis event occurs, leading to questions of identity, belonging, and the safety of the entire multiverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Metamorphosis, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> I have made many revisions and improvements to this story. Some chapters will have more changes than others. I will post them as I finalize each chapter. The original version was beta'd by Kilodalton and Abadplanwellexecuted. This version is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> **Chapter Warnings**  
> Mild allusion to suicide.  
> Heavy angst.

This time it’s different than the others before. That’s true of every regeneration, but this time it’s a slow, tormenting crescendo. It flays his cells one-by-one with great, plodding patience. A double-edged sword, the humans might say, for despite the pain, it gives him time to look back on his tenth life and realise its many blessings.

It was a good life, he reckons. Good  _for_  him. Not that it was easy, mind. But through it all he’d come to know things. Really know them, in ways he hadn’t before. Things like humanity, family, and love. He aches with the knowledge of having to leave it behind. Who knows the kind of person he’ll become after this?

But for now, he relishes what made his life so fantastic. So brilliant. It all began with Rose. He exploded into his tenth self with a wide-open heart, and a wide-open smile. Qualities he’d developed _for_ _her, and because of her._

Then she was taken from him. Taken from the entire universe. At times he’s not sure when his grief ends and the grief of the universe begins. Perhaps they’re one in the same.

Of course, her loss was not the first he’d endured, oh no, not by far. He lost everything during the war. Everyone. But when he lost her he lost himself.

Others came to be his friends in her wake, thanks to the gifts Rose had given him. The open heart. The humanity. His new friends never replaced her; no one ever could. But they were a much needed balm, and now because of them all, he knows friendship and family, and just a bit more about why he loves humankind.  
  
Yeah, it was a good life.  
  
He visits his friends as he succumbs to the rending radiation. The ones who helped define this version of himself. But he’s careful not to interact. They need to move on, just like he does now. Still, it’s nice to see them again, just one last time. And isn’t it just so human of him to want to do that? To  _need_  to do that?  The desire to talk to them is so strong, but he holds back. Instead, he influences their lives the only way he can now–from a distance.

One by one, he collects his rewards. The memory of their smiling, human faces emblazoned like constellations in his mind. He almost makes it without mucking up anything permanent (bloody unforgiving fixed points in time), but then there is Rose.

He saves her for last, Rose. The love of his life. He saved her for last, because the pain had become so deeply intense, and it was hard to move, and he knew that her smiling face would give him the strength to press on to his next life.  
  
He is right. Seeing her again makes the pain more bearable. She’s so full of life and hope, entirely his opposite in that moment under the Christmas lights still shining for the New Year. But she sees him too.

He didn’t mean to attract her attention, but a splinter of pain strikes him right as she passes him by. She speaks to him, and it’s too much, her voice, the way she leans towards the dark corner he occupies to try and get a better look at him. He longs to touch her, can’t take his eyes off of her.

Whatever he says is too plain and too daft. They used to talk about interstellar politics, and which planetary sub-cultures made the best ice cream. He bets she’ll have a really great year. She takes it as a kindness. He meant it as a promise.

Before anything catastrophic can happen, she’s off, bounding across the street and into the stairwell that leads up to her flat.  
  
He stands there bereft, and watches her go. Moments later, the ood’s appearance heralds the end, and so he limps back to the TARDIS where he awaits the inevitable.  
  
Back aboard the time ship, he looks down at his hands. He felt the glow burning under his skin long before it became visible, and now that it’s there, racing along his veins, jumping from cell to cell, he knows he can’t stop it. Part of him wants to. He’d like to just end it now, like the Master had done. But once things are set into motion they can’t be stopped.

He looks around the TARDIS one last time–the last time he’ll see her with these eyes, and steps away from the console. The blast will be intense from the expulsion of radiation that had been slowly ravaging his system, and he didn’t want to cause any irreparable damage.  
  
He thinks of his companions again. Martha and Mickey. Wilfred and Donna. Jack and Sarah Jane. Rose. She has no idea what he’s about to go through. She liked him this way, and ever since big ears and leather, he’s afraid to become someone she’ll never know. She’s probably with the other him at this very moment living the life he could never have given her.

He flinches as a wave of pain racks through him and his mental shields slip, allowing Rose and the blue suited Doctor’s possible timelines to skate across his mind. They’re frayed at the ends, cut off at the moment the universes sealed them out.  
  
It’s time now, as the regenerative aura alights his face, knocking thoughts from his mind. The pain brings tears to his eyes and he opens his mouth, compelled by fear or longing, to confess how much he doesn’t want to go. But before he can make a sound, a face appears in front of him, so sudden and quick that he swallows the words and staggers back a step. It’s a familiar face, attached to a familiar body—one he saw only moments ago. He blinks hard and she’s still there.  
  
“Rose…?” His voice is raw around the sound of her name. He swallows, but his mouth is dry.  
  
“Doctor.”  
  
His tears evaporate before they can fall. How can this be? Did she follow him into the TARDIS? She doesn’t look quite the same. Her hair is very different, for starters, but she is grasping his face in her hands and pulling him towards her, and he’s so bewildered that he lets her.  
  
“I’m here to save you, my Doctor,” she says. Her tone is ardent and her expression drawn with urgency. “A payment of debts. Another chance.”  
  
“No! Get away! I’ll hurt you!”

“Please.”  
  
There’s a flash, and regeneration energy consumes both of them as if to illustrate his point. Her skin flares, golden and bright. She should be in agony, but her gaze remains unflinching. He closes his eyes, deciding that this is some kind of hallucination. He’s had his fair share of odd regenerations, in fact. Yes. His brain is giving him this vision, placating an old desire to ease him into death.

Even if there's an infinitesimal chance that this phantom is here to give him another chance, perhaps he's selfish enough to take it.

“Okay,” he whispers, giving in.  
  
Her lips touch his and they’re oddly light, like butterfly wings. He’s not sure if he can even feel it or if his brain is filling in sensations for him.  A presence brushes across his mind, and the agony siphons out of him, pulled like poison from a wound.  The burning sensation eases further, and the feather-light touches are gone. Everything is still. The pain subsides. He opens his eyes to find no one there, and he sways forward, grasping for the rail nearby for support.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
He coughs, his voice feeling raw in his throat, but it sounds the same. He looks down at his hands, seeing long, thin fingers. There’s a light dusting of freckles and hair–no different than before. Something moves in his periphery, and he turns to see a figure huddled over in the jump seat. It’s her–the figment of Rose–or a woman who looks remarkably like her. Her clothes are bizarre–the colour of wicker baskets or boring carpets. Not to mention, they’re tattered and holey like she had been running through a bramble forest, or found them in a bin. Either way, he knows his Rose would never wear it.  
  
“So which is it? Hallucination or–”  
  
Her arms are wrap around her middle and she grimaces. She’s not well, whatever she is. He rushes over to her and reaches out, but his hands move through her. Hadn’t she been able to grab him before? She looks up at him and there are tears in her eyes.  
  
“I’m just an image,” she says, smiling through her pain. “No touch.”  
  
“Wh-what–?”  
  
“You said that to me once. It’s all there,” she points to his head. “I’m Rose Tyler. Certain of that now.” She winces, and something nearby sparks.  
  
The Doctor looks to the source to see the Moment casing there, wedged under the console grating where he had stowed it. Now he remembers. He fetched it after he left his former and future selves in the museum,  _Bad Wolf Girl_  playing over and over in his mind ever since his past self spoke the words. He looks back to the entity before him who looks so much like Rose it makes his chest ache. “So that’s what he meant? You?”  
  
“I chose this face and form especially for you,” she says, her voice trembling now. “I’ve saved you, Doctor.” She flashes a smile and it’s the one he saw earlier in the snowy street. He couldn’t look away if he tried.  
  
“What are you? Are you the weapon? Are you a projection?”  
  
“I’m Rose Tyler. Bad Wolf. I’m going to explode.” She swings her legs and then cries out as another spark flashes. Her eyes glow and the TARDIS cloister bell chimes. “Oh, oh, that hurts!”  
  
“But, you--” He moves swiftly to the grating and pulls it open. Carefully, he cradles the Moment box in his arms, and brings it up to sit it near the jump seat. It’s clicking and crackling, emitting little beeps and other sounds that he’s sure signify distress. 

“So, somehow this weapon has sentience, but now–oh, what have you done?”  
  
“I absorbed the radiation. I staved off your regeneration so now you can find me again.” She smiles. “That’s what you want to do. I can see it in your mind.” Her brow furrows and she frowns. “At least at one point you did. Maybe there’s another reason. I can’t remember! Everything’s all muddled. I-I-I feel strange.”  
  
The Doctor tries to ignore her as he searches the Moment casing but can’t find any controls. “I thought I did this before, but…” He runs his hand along the ornate carved surface.  
  
“What are you trying to do, Doctor?”  
  
“Trying to figure out what’s happening. It seems the countdown was initialized, but I can’t figure out how to stop it. Was there a failsafe?”  
  
“The weapon will detonate in six minutes, fifty-two seconds. Terminal levels of radiation have been absorbed into the power core, destabilizing the initiation protocols, and it cannot be reversed.”  
  
“Oh, no. No, no, no!” If it blows up inside of the TARDIS, he could prevent it from affecting–  
  
“Don’t you dare harm yourself. Don’t you dare destroy your beloved TARDIS.” She looks up at the glowing central column. “There’s no need for such a sacrifice.”  
  
The Doctor stares at her. “What do you suggest I do, hm? You’re the one who  _saved_  me. Did you think it through?”  
  
“Six minutes, seven seconds. The universe is immense. There’s enough space between stars to create new ones. Oh, what’s it doing to me?”  
  
“If the Moment detonates in deep space, it-it-it would create a nebula. Possibly. Arrrgghh!” He grabs at his hair, making a right mess of it. “That what you mean? Yes, that’s very possible.” He jumps up and rushes to the console where he enters the coordinates for a remote region of space, far from any star system. He sets the TARDIS in motion and turns around to see the Rose-entity sitting there, doubled over, her face pale.

“Or it’ll tear open the fabric of time.”  
  
“You are a worry wart,” she admonishes, before her face twists in pain. “Is this what dying feels like? Five minutes, two seconds.”  
  
He knew the Moment was powerful, but enough so for it to develop a sentience? And it chose Rose of all of the people in his life. Brilliant. He had more questions and not nearly enough time to ask them. Why would she save him if it meant destroying herself? Is a future him going to do something so reprehensible that he needed to follow a different timeline all together? What would drive him to do something like that?  
  
“Four minutes, forty-three seconds.”  
  
“I’m not going to let you die.” The Doctor turns away from her, doesn’t look at her as he speaks. She isn’t Rose. She  _isn_ _’_ _t_ , despite choosing her face and form. She’s a projection of a sentient weapon. A hologram that took on her appearance– _that_ _’_ _s all_. But she is alive, and he can’t just destroy her, especially not after she saved his life.  
  
He mentally ticks off his options. There’s no time to figure out how to open the casing and separate the bomb from the processor. His sonic doesn’t have the capacity to store her, but–but the TARDIS does! He swivels the monitor over to where he needs it.

“I’m going to save you.”  
  
“How will you do that? Never mind, I know you’re clever. Oh–if I do explode, I could become a star! Never imagined myself as a star. Four minutes, two seconds.”  
  
“ _You_ _’_ _re_ not going to explode.” He grits his teeth as he works calculations on the console. He sets up a program that will track and transfer the interface on the Moment to the TARDIS mainframe.

“Fancy a lift?” He hovers his finger over the button that will initiate the process.  
  
“I’m flattered, but Doctor you should buy me a drink first at least. Oh! You’re going to transfer me? Duplicate the program, upload me to there, delete me from here. Three minutes, thirty seconds.”  
  
“Yes.” He pauses. “Are you, erm, okay with that?”  
  
“I am.” She smiles. “Rebirth it is! Three minutes, seventeen seconds.”  
  
He pushes the button and she blinks away, disappearing to wherever sentient projections go whilst their host programmes are being relocated. He watches the screen to monitor the transfer. It takes mere seconds, but even so, he’ll have very little time left once it’s complete to jettison the most destructive weapon known in the universe. His fingers drum frantically against the console, his hearts race, and his eyes dart around the screen, chasing each progress glyph as they come and go.  
  
Once the process ends, he turns to pick up the Moment box, but it’s glowing like the sunset–or Regeneration, he realizes, and he backs away a step.  
  
“Er…”  
  
The energy shoots upwards, and is absorbed into the console in a blinding flash. The TARDIS begins to vibrate, and the Moment casing cracks. Whatever that was, he can’t deal with it right now. He has to get the weapon out of the TARDIS. He grabs the Moment and carries it to the TARDIS entrance.  
  
He kicks open the door. There’s not anything for millions of lightyears, just as the TARDIS had indicated. He shoves the Moment out and into the well of nothingness. The nearest star system would be far enough away for it to detonate without causing harm, though they might experience quite the dazzling light show. A part of him wonders if he’s creating gods and fables, as he watches it float away from the TARDIS, all sounds it was making going silent in the vacuum of space.  
  
He closes the doors and rushes over to the console to initiate the dematerialization sequence. The TARDIS enters the time stream without incident, and slips far, far away, putting eons of space and time between himself and the Moment’s resulting shockwave.  As he eases the TARDIS into orbit around a rocky, vacant planet, he calls back the coordinates to determine what became of the so-called Galaxy Eater.  
  
The readouts on the screen indicate that where the Moment exploded, a nebula bloomed, expanding outward in clouds of gas and dust.  
  
“Doctor?”  
  
He jolts at the voice, and spins around to see Rose standing there just a few feet away. Not Rose in strange clothes with strange hair, but the actual, proper, jeans-and-t-shirt Rose. Her hair is straight and long and a small plait weaves through from her temple. It reminds him of the hairstyle she had when he regenerated from his Ninth self, and it’s just the subtle difference he needs to keep his feet on the ground. This wasn’t Rose.  
  
“Oh, it’s you. Can’t you chose a different form?”  
  
“You don’t like my outfit?” She smooths her hands down her stomach and tugs at her t-shirt, stretching it over her breasts.  
  
He blinks and looks away from her, back to the screen. “No, I mean–your face.”  
  
“S’cuse me?” her voice wobbles.  
  
“Er, you don’t see how it’s a bit cruel to show up to me looking like that? You should know better if you know me as well as you say.” He taps his head and keeps his back to her.  
“Are you really that thick or d’you know you’re being rude and just don’t care?”  
  
“ _I_ _’_ _m_  being rude? Well, perhaps, but—” He locates the Moment interface in the TARDIS mainframe and looks over the code as he responds.

“I just saved your life. Least you could do is change your face to something less painful for me.” He can’t, he won’t look at her as long as she takes this appearance.  
  
She doesn’t respond. Maybe he was too hard on her; she was dying, after all. Probably didn’t have a chance yet to conjure up a new face. He turns around, compelled to apologize, but she’s gone. He sighs and returns his focus to the screen. Everything looks typical at first. Incredible, sophisticated, but typical of Time Lord technology for a weapons interfacing system. But then he notices extensions in the program that connect it to specific databanks in the TARDIS, as well as rewrites and deletions that modify the program in very intricate ways. He can’t quite tell if the TARDIS had anything to do with this, but it denotes a level of deliberation that is implicit of self-awareness.  
  
He searches through one of the pathways and finds that it has pulled information from one source in particular: the TARDIS data sphere on Rose Tyler. It has accessed everything from images of her, to her DNA. It accessed records on her mannerisms, vocal patterns, personal history, and preferences, each comprising its own code sphere within the program. There are other pathways, too, pathways that don’t appear to connect to anything at all. Just endless rerouted and encrypted code spheres that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t surmount them. He initiates a program to do it automatically, but each attempt fails and gives him the error– _PRIVATE._  
  
He swears under his breath and retraces his steps through the program. “Come on, think!”  
  
Aha, there’s a rather essential code sphere that has been erased. He puts on his specs to peer closely at the screen as he chases the function that deleted it. A message flashes:  _Weapons Interface Protocol cannot be found._  
  
The entity appeared to him just moments ago, so it obviously hasn’t deleted itself entirely. Another message displays on the screen. His brow furrows as he searches for the program running in its place.  
  
_Algorithm initialized: Rose Tyler._  
  
“What?” Dread fills his chest, and he enters a series of commands.  
  
_Cannot access Rose Tyler. Access denied._  
  
“What the bloody hell have you done?”

He pushes up his glasses and rubs his eyes. All signs were pointing to the Moment interface having completely rewritten herself once she was transferred.  He tries one more thing. If he could just…  
  
_You do not have permission to alter this program._  
  
“Oh, of course not!”

This was some kind of punishment, he’s sure. Stave off regeneration so he can be tormented with a not-Rose aboard his TARDIS. Guilt and grief take over, and each one’s a fist clenching around his hearts. Bloody sentient bloody Time Lord technology. Just how did it become sentient, anyway? He sighs in exasperation and turns around to rest back against the console, crossing his arms. He schools his features to something as blank and hollow as he can muster.  
  
“So, you’ve gone and made yourself into her, haven’t you?”  
  
There’s a rush of regret when he realises she is gone. He never heard her leave, so she must have shut herself off. That thought sends a shudder down his spine.  
  
He sniffs, and then busies himself with pacing around the console, flipping switches and adjusting dials. He’s not sure if he wants to go anywhere in particular right now. He’s not sure exactly what he’s in the mood to do at all. This all feels wrong. He shouldn’t be here, all skinny pinstripes and great hair. He should be someone else entirely. But he’s not, and he can’t help but feel like he’s created an entire universe around the moment he chose to take the weapon aboard his ship.  
  
“ _The Moment_ , indeed,” he says to himself, not an ounce of humor in his tone.  
  
That future version of himself he met in the waistcoat and bowtie–would he still become him? Should he worry about reapers and crossing his own timeline? Did that future him know about all this, or was he now on an entirely different course?  He runs through the events of that day, cringing at most of what he recalls. There was no indication that he had a sentient Rose hologram on his TARDIS. No indication from his companion–Claire or Clara–that she knew of Rose at all. He should’ve never taken that damn thing aboard his ship.  
  
He drops into the jump seat and lifts his feet to rest on the console, legs crossed. The central column dims and brightens and he looks up towards it, letting his thoughts spiral on.  
  
If the Moment’s conscience has augmented herself with detailed specifications on Rose Tyler, she very well may think she’s Rose. And the regeneration energy he saw–just what the hell was  _that_  about? If he wanted answers, if he wanted to gain access to her programming, he figures he’d have to play along. His lip curls and his eyes prickle as he tries to put himself in the headspace to play such a charade.  
  
“Rose,” he says, voice breaking. It takes him a moment to get past the sound of her name on the air. “A–are you there?”  
  
There’s no response. He thinks back to their earlier encounter. He told her to do something about her face–oh. He groans and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Swinging his feet down to the grating with a clang, he springs up and shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. “Think I’d like a cuppa. See you in the galley?”  
  
He waits a beat. Still nothing. How does one summon a hologram who thinks she’s human?

“Er, I can make you one. We have some of that fresh edoa fruit that you liked. Can slice up some for you.” He feels like a buffoon, talking to thin air.  
  
The TARDIS hums.  
  
“Oh, stop it. It’s different talking to you.” He sighs and strolls towards the ship corridors, looking down at his feet. Oh how he loves these feet. Grinning to himself, he’s glad he can still enjoy wearing his good o’ Chucks. He does a little hop to the side and–THWACK!  
  
“…Ow.” He opens his eyes as his head stops ringing to find himself nose-first against a doorway. He pushes away from the door and looks it up and down. The Gallifreyan symbols on the door read  _Rose Tyler_. In essence. They really say so much more than that, but—

With a gasp, he takes a big step back. He hasn’t seen this door ever since the TARDIS shuffled it into storage some time back–probably while Donna was still on board. He swallows and approaches it again.  
  
“Ro-Rose?” He knocks at it softly.  
  
“Go away,” comes her muffled reply inside. “Not in the mood.”  
  
Relief swoops through him at the sound of her voice. “Oh, good. I mean–I’m sorry.”

“Really, truly sorry. I was ah, erm. Well, there’s—”  
  
The door slides open, and Rose stands there, her hair short and wavy. She’s changed her shirt as well. It’s blue and reads,  _Wichita Falls_  in three overlapping colours. He’s seen it before–once, and he squints at the memory.  
  
“That all you have to say?”  
  
“I, uhm, thought you might like tea. Was heading for the galley,” he says, sliding his hand through his hair and scratching the back of his neck.  
  
She picks at her nails and tilts her head. “Sure.”  
  
His mouth works to say something else, and her eyes cut up to watch his lips. She fidgets more, tugging at her shirt collar and playing with a strand of hair, and that’s when he notices that her eyes are red and puffy. His heart drops, and she must notice, because she looks away, letting her hair fall to block her face.  
  
His stomach twists, and he’s overcome with the need to comfort her when she looks away. He’s so transfixed. She’s so precise, so authentic that his hand lifts to grab hers, but he stops himself short, fingers curling into a fist as it drops back to his side. She’s not real. She’s alive, yes–but she’s not Rose. He’d do well to remember.

He smiles at her, a tight, but pleasant smile.

“Good.”  
  
“Be there in a mo’.” She turns away from him and the doors close.


	2. Pink and Yellow Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other than numerous cosmetic changes, there is a major revision in this chapter to give Rose more explicit agency in one particular scene. The first time around, I feel like the way I portrayed the scene didn't accurately depict what was happening.
> 
> Previous iteration of this chapter was beta'd by kilodalton and abadplanwellexecuted. This iteration is unbeta'd so I take the blame for all confusion and mistakes. :)
> 
> **Chapter Warnings**  
> Snake, emetophobia trigger, scene depicting a blood draw.

There's not a lot of time to think once the dimension cannon chimes. Rose quickly verifies that it has locked on to an occurrence of space-time displacement through the void. This is the closest it has ever come in all of their testing to matching the atomic resonance of her TARDIS key, so it has to be the right universe. Rose nods to Mickey and Jake, heart doing gymnastics in her chest. She squares her stance for her very first jump.

An odd sensation jerks her insides, and that’s all the warning she gets before she’s hurtling across the void. It’s instantaneous. Barely a blink and she’s back in her old universe. But her body feels more like it has just been through a centuries-long freefall. She staggers forward against a nearby tree and gasps as the molecules in her body readjust from being stretched and dispersed and reassembled. Jake was right. Can’t compare that feeling to anything else, and he had only been transported across the room.

“Oh, my God… I made it!”

Her voice wavers as she’s overcome with emotion. Relief and hope fill her up to the brim and she hasn’t felt this way in literal years. Happiness blooms from somewhere so, so deep inside that she erupts with a peal of laughter, tears stinging her eyes. The sound, the feel of laughing from sheer joy is a salve on her wounded spirit—she knew she could do it. _Oh, Doctor, I’ll get to see you soon!_

But it’s a rush that derails from a surge of dizziness. Feels like the earth’s spinning under her feet, and she wonders how the Doctor can stand it. Her pulse grows erratic, and her stomach churns. A steady build of static, like white noise, whooshes through her head, getting louder.

She looks around to orient herself. Wherever she is, it looks tropical—lots of colorful flowers and lush, green vegetation. The air is salty, and there’s a cool breeze that soothes the creeping clamminess caused by a drop in blood pressure.

A vine of flowers overhead gives off a nectar-sweet perfume. She might’ve normally found it pleasant, but it’s the breaking point for her upset stomach. Bile rises before she can stop it, and she retches on the roots of the tree she’s braced against. Despite the disgusting taste in her mouth, she feels _so_ much better. They’d warned her that could happen. They also said she could die, and she’s fairly certain she’s alive, so she’ll take her queasiness in stride.

The branches of nearby trees rustle noisily, startling her, as an animal scurries away through the foliage. She squints up through broad, flat leaves to the bright sunlight filtering down, and the warmth helps to sooth her further. The Doctor has to be nearby. Her hand moves to touch the TARDIS key through her shirt, feeling its incalescent pulse for the first time since she was lost. She presses onward with tears in her eyes.

She takes an unsteady step forward, her feet scuffing against packed, sandy soil. The static dulls and morphs as her senses recover, becoming rhythmic, like the pull and crash of ocean waves. That makes sense—as it appears she’s in the tropics. So, an island, maybe. She scans the forest and spies a small stream just ahead. It burbles and splashes just over the sound of the distant surf. She heads for it, and as she reaches it she drops to her knees by the bank. With cupped hand, she brings the crisp, fresh water to her lips to clean out her mouth and wash her face.

She takes a moment to rest, and check her vitals on her wrist monitor. All stabilising. It also confirms that she still has a signal, albeit weak, tethering her to the other universe.

Standing, she has a look around. There’s dark shape beyond a banana tree just ahead. Sunlight flares through the branches, and she shields her eyes with cupped hands. Her heart jumps into her throat—it’s blue! And just the right height! She wants to run, but her intensive training kicks in, reminding her to keep her guard. Not to mention, there’s massive purple and blue snake sliding over a branch in front of her. It stops, head curling back over itself as it settles for a kip.

“Oh, hello. Aren’t you pretty.”

She steps over the small stream, bringing her much too close to the slumbering serpent for comfort.  

“That’s it. Pretty just where you are.”

She skirts around the snake, finding a path through a cluster of plants with long fronds and little red flowers. The front of the TARDIS comes into view. It looks the same as ever on the surface.

Her ultimate purpose is to deliver a message that the stars are going out. The universe is in danger. That’s why Torchwood no longer prevented her from trying. Defiant tears slip down her cheeks, and she clenches her fists. They knew better. She also did this for love.

As she approaches the blue box, her breathing quickens. Would he be tinkering under the console? Flitting from panel-to-panel, adjusting controls? Sitting pensive and quiet on the jump seat? She can even hear the ship’s ever-present, ambient hum as her imagination runs wild. She bites her lip to quell her joy—a habit formed after one too many disappointments—but a smile escapes when she finally reaches her target. She runs her hand along the outside of the beloved ship as she rounds to the front doors, her heart soaring.

“Doctor?” She knocks.

A bird startles, taking flight, but he doesn’t answer. Her breath hitches with realisation. There’s a chance they hadn’t lost each other yet and she could be with him, throwing a rather complicated spanner in this whole thing. Even worse—a chance he hasn’t met her yet and wouldn’t believe her warnings.

She knows the risks. She drafted the list herself long ago, but the task of actually making it across the void had taken priority for so long that she didn’t stop to think.

She bites her nail and withdraws the key from her shirt collar—what if he’s changed again? What if he’s—stop. The stars are going out. That’s far, far more important, yeah? Her hand shakes as she fits the key into the keyhole and twists. The lock opens, and she’s sure the entire world can feel her hammering heart.

Stepping inside is like stepping back in time, and the irony that she’s in a time ship isn’t lost on her. She closes the door behind her and swallows, eyes flitting around. The console room appears empty and quiet, but he could be deeper in the corridors.

His long coat is draped over the coral strut near the door. She darts over to it on impulse, sliding her hands across the brown material and bringing its collar to her nose. She closes her eyes and breathes in his scent. Visceral memories of his arms around her, of his hearts beating under her ear flood her mind. It’s like her cage has opened, and now she can fly. Her knees buckle from from the weight of her absolution, but she remains steady. She places the coat back over the strut, unconsciously stroking the material as she moves along the ramp.

The central column bathes her in its green glow. Every step mends the fragments of her spirit that had scattered when the universes closed.

She touches the console, glides her hands over levers and knobs, and finds the monitor screen resting on an image of a planet. Surrounding it are the interlocking circles and lines, all turning and ticking away to spell out words in his native language that she can’t translate.

The central column glows and dims, and the TARDIS hums, drawing out another smile from her weary soul.

“Missed you, too,” she says, soaking it all in. The roundels, the grated floors, the coral struts.

“Right then. I’ll just have to wait.”

She flops onto the jump seat, and something catches her eye near the console. At first, she dismisses it. Not important right now in the least. The Doctor collects all kinds of things on his travels. Her eyes wander the domed room, following the lines of the struts and the rails that skirt the perimeter until they settle once again on the object under the console ledge. She tilts her head, considering, but looks away, only to have her attention drawn straight back to it seconds later.

This time she leans to get a better look. It’s some kind of fancy, wooden box with thick edges and metal corners that gleam even in the shadows. Each panel is carved with circular designs resembling the symbols of the Doctor’s language, only they’re overlapping like the gears inside a clock. Possible scenarios of how he acquired it enter her mind. Did he find this all on his own? Or maybe he’s travelling with someone else now. Did he have a new companion to share in his excitement when he came across such a fascinating artefact? How long has it been for him since that terrible white wall and his ghost on the beach? Long enough for him to have…

She quickly stamps down the sad, ugly feelings that boil up and refocuses on the box. It’s beautiful. Intricate. She should know better than to touch it, but she’s already dropping to her knees to do just that. Curiosity had always been one of her best features.

_Rose..._

She stills with a gasp.

_It’s me. It’s you._

The voice sounds eerily familiar. She settles back on her heels and listens. Watches. But nothing else happens over a long stretch of silence. Maybe her perception’s a little on the fritz from her jump. She stares at the box again and shifts, the grated flooring digging into her knees. She’s about to get up, when a glimmer near the box catches her eye. The TARDIS lights dim momentarily.

_Do you still not remember?_

“I—I don’t know. Who is this?”

_Look at me._

Rose looks up to the glowing column overhead. No, can’t be the ship. Never used actual words to communicate with her before. That means there must be an intruder. Gooseflesh rises on her skin. Whatever could’ve snuck in past the TARDIS sensors isn’t anything she wants to mess with.

She stands abruptly. “I’m not doin’ anything till the Doctor gets back.”

_Please, remember!_

She takes a step back. “I—I don’t—“

The box on the floor draws her attention again.

Wait. She’s seen it before. Has she? No. Surely she’d recall. But there’s something about it that tugs at her mind in that déjà vu sort of way. She drifts toward it, and its familiarity grows. It’s not the box, it’s the person it encases. Vision blurred by tears, she kneels before it, hands hovering but not touching. How she could’ve forgotten?

“It is time.”

_It is time._

Rose grasps the box. Golden light sprays from between her fingers and around the outline of her hands. The glow quickly spreads, sparking over the dips and grooves of the designs. She grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut. It doesn’t hurt, but the reverberations from the box make her bones shudder.

At last, she feels a thump in her head, like a rubber band snapping. Her pulse skyrockets and she cries out, tearing her hands away from the box. She knew it would happen this way. Knew why it was so important, and that in a few more moments, she’d no longer remember it’d happened at all.

Rose groans as her eyes adjust from a flash of light. She finds herself lying on her back, staring up to the dome of the TARDIS interior. She props herself up on her forearms, her body buzzing along with the humming sound in her head, and her eyes dart back to the strange box. It’s still glowing, though not as brightly, and as she stares at it, the humming in her head dissipates.

“That thing bloody shocked me!”

The TARDIS gave an evasive hum.

“Yeah, yeah.”

She rolls over and uses the jump seat to pull herself up and settle on the cushions. The effort takes her breath away, and she lays there across the seat to get her bearings. The Doctor will be back, and he’ll sort this all out. Yeah, it’ll be like old times. She closes her eyes, and smiles softly.

A sudden pulling sensation grabs at her solar plexus. It’s painfully familiar, like she felt just before jumping. A mere blink later she’s standing back in Torchwood with a team of scientists and medical technicians rushing towards her to check her vitals and her wrist comm.

Mickey dashes towards her, swearing and nudging others out of his way.

“Rose, oh, God, are you all right?”

She can barely nod before that awful sick feeling overcomes her. “Fuck…"

She leans forward with her hands resting on her thighs, and with some effort, she manages to keep herself from outright puking.

 “Sorry, Rose,” said someone else. “Our sensors indicated you were in distress. I hope there wasn’t too much of a delay—”

Her senses sharpen and she snaps her head up to glare at whomever spoke.

“NO! Send me back! I WAS THERE!”

She lunges for the dimension canon control panel, knocking a few people out of her way in the process.

“I was there in the TARDIS! Why did you do this to me?!”

“I’m so sorry,” says Jake, backing away from the controls, giving her space. “Everything was going haywire over here. Your stats were crashing—looked like you were... Look, we had to pull you back. We went over this.”

“He’s right, Rose. There was nothing for hours and hours and then all of a sudden,” Mickey splays his hands. “It’s like you were, you were—“

“You were dying. That’s what the readings told us, Rose,” Jake says, helping him.

“Fuck.” She sways, feeling unsteady.

Mickey pulls her in for an embrace, but she keeps her arms wrapped around herself even as she leans into it.

“I was so bloody close. I made it across and he was gonna be back any minute.”

“Did something happen?” Mickey asks, rubbing her back.

“No. What d’you mean?”

“Monitors were goin’ mental over here, Rose.”

She exhales through her nose, trying to push past her anger to remember. “Yeah, um. It wasn’t anything, though! There was this box, and I—“ she stops herself, mouth hanging open a second as she slides away the hair that falls in her face. “It was weird, yeah, I panicked, but I was fine! I was just sitting there waiting for him.”

A nearby technician enters notes into a tablet resting on his forearm, every so often glancing up at Rose. She knows he must be recording her statements, and so she lifts her guard. That’s all they need to know—she can’t have them coming up with any excuse to keep her from going back.

“Did you see him?”

 “No. I was,” she takes a ragged breath. “I was alone. He wasn’t around. But he was gonna come back and sort it out.”

“We’ll try again,” says Jake.

“As long as everything checks out,” adds the engineer next to him.

Rose scoffs. “Nah, we’ll try again right now. I’m ready; I’m fine. How long till it calibrates?” She gently pulls away from Mickey and walks over to Jake. “If we hurry he might still be there.”

“Twenty-four minutes, but we have to make some adjustments, and you need a thorough physical examination after what you just went through.”

“I feel perfectly fine. It’s a bit dodgy at first, but see, I wasn’t as sick the second time, when you pulled me back.”

“Yeah, I detected a bit of distress when you first went through and made some tweaks to the gravitational tide force field. I think I can adjust it further so there’ll be no side effects at all. Just need some time.”

“I can handle an upset stomach, Jake. Just send me through.” She steps back onto the cannon platform.

“Rose,” a scientist says, clearing her throat. “Ethically, we can’t allow you do go back. We need to run some tests on how jumping across the void affects your biology. It could take a day or two to get results, and I’d advise against further travel until we can be sure it hasn’t caused any irreparable damage.” She places a hand on Rose’s elbow to lead her over to a nearby medical stall.

“What sort of damage?”

“Well,” the scientist begins as she helps Rose remove her leather jacket and motions to a chair nearby. “Have a seat there. Thanks.” She prepares the vein in Rose’s arm for a blood draw as she continues. “You traveled by way of a contained singularity through the void, and into another universe. Tidal gravity wasn’t fully shielded as you crossed the event horizon, hence your nausea and other ailments, which could lead to cellular deterioration.”

“I feel fine.”

The scientist gets that thin-lipped, _I know better,_ sort of look on her face. She places a bandage over the injection site and pats Rose on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Need to grab my biopsy kit from medbay.”

Rose sighs once the woman walks off. From her point of view, she can see the dimension cannon control panel in the distance. Jake is there, along with a couple other engineers, looking over the data from her jump and talking together animatedly. They’re excited, and they have every reason to be. The cannon _finally_ works. She smiles slightly, sharing in a bit of their enthusiasm despite her utter distress that she has to wait for her next jump.

And, God, just being in the TARDIS again—being so bloody close—makes it worth the wait, yeah? She proved she could do it, that the dimension cannon works, the thing she had a hand in constructing _works_ , and that finding him isn’t like searching for a needle in a haystack like they thought it’d be. She bites her bottom lip, and her grin deepens as she sinks down in the chair.

Mickey joins her after a few minutes, and leans against the half-wall of the medical stall.

“You said there was a box on the TARDIS, and that’s when something odd happened. Lines up with what was going on over here as far as we can tell. Any idea what it was? You didn’t touch it, did you?”

Rose sits up and shrugs a shoulder. “It was a, uhm,” she peers around to make sure there’s no one else in earshot. “It was a cube with designs all over it, made of wood. I touched it—don’t tell them. Please?”

“I won’t, Rose.”

“I remember hearing a voice before I touched it. It said my name. Then next thing I know, I’m lying on my back feeling like I’ve been electrocuted.”

Mickey furrows his brow. “Yeah, we should keep that bit between us. Might not matter, but I know you wanna go back, like, yesterday. They hear about that and you might as well sign an experiment consent form.”

She blows a puff of air in relief, stirring up her fringe. “Yeah. Knew you’d understand. But I’m fine anyway, it didn’t do anything else. S’just a stupid box.”

“Yeah, but it’s alien. Could’ve been anything, like a bomb.”

“Don’t be daft. Why would he have a bomb just sitting out like that?”

Mickey shrugs. “What do you reckon it was?”

Rose looks up in thought. She rubs her hands down her thighs to her knees, where she rests on her forearms. Her gaze shifts to the floor.

“Don’t know. I was gonna ask the Doctor, so I would’ve found out if I hadn’t been jerked back.” There’s a cutting edge to her tone and it’s not meant for Mickey, but she looks up at him anyway to make sure he didn’t take offense. He’s looking off at nothing in particular, expression pensive. After a minute, he speaks up.

“You did it, Rose.” His face breaks into a grin.

“Yeah, well, s’only working ‘cos the walls are breaking down. S’not right, is it? I was laughing. I was so happy, and I was right there in the TARDIS. But the only reason why I could make it at all was ‘cos the stars are going out, and that’s bad.” She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall behind her. “It’s wrong.”

“You’re allowed to be happy to see him again.”

Her jaw clenches and her brows draw together. “But, I didn’t.”

After a stretch of silence, she hears Mickey walk away.

 

**

Rose stares at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. Her appearance has changed again since the Doctor left her door and she can’t quite figure out how it happens. She just…changes. Now she’s wearing a leather jacket with a maroon vest and dark trousers. Her hair is combed straight and plain and dyed a softer, more honeyed blonde. Her frame is thinner, her body shaped with lean muscle, and her face is set in a hardened, stoic expression. She looks properly intimidating. It unnerves her to the point that she turns away from the mirror.

The last thing she remembers is walking into the control room to find the Doctor studying the monitor, his posture bent, braced by his palms against the console. His back was hunched as though the weight of the universe had finally become too much to bear. Her first instinct was to soothe him, but his cruel reaction made her feel more like an intruder than a friend. His words cut through her mind again and flinched.

After that, the TARDIS moved her to her room. Away from him, making it abundantly clear she was at fault for his distress. But, what the hell did she do? She holds her head as she struggles to recall the events of the day. She could teleport. Change her appearance in a blink. What could’ve given her such odd powers, some kind of alien curse? Did she wander off again and stumble across something she shouldn’t have?

“Oh, you’ve really done it this time, Rose.”

She paces, pointedly avoiding the mirror. Instead of wallowing, a better use of her energy would be to think of what she can remember. Maybe that’ll lead to what she’s forgotten.

Her eyes fall on the trinkets she’s amassed from other worlds and other times. They’re spread throughout the room on shelves and the vanity, piled on her nightstand. They anchor her to specific events, building a picture of where she is relative to her own timeline. She trails her hands over them, not quite touching them, but with each one, her memory of that moment returns and it sends a jolt of relief through her. A Victorian comb brings to mind Dickens and a Werewolf, oh, that’s two memories! An applegrass scented candle. A child’s drawing of her and the Doctor with an Olympic banner overhead. She smiles, feeling more grounded.

But she catches sight of herself in the mirror again and recoils, the worries returning. Stronger.

No, she won’t feel sorry for herself. The Doctor was deeply disturbed by something, and maybe he wasn’t ready to talk about it when she went to see him. He appologised, and asked her to join him for tea in the galley, so that’s what she’ll do.

Her surroundings instantly flicker away. She flinches as she finds herself in the galley. She looks up as though to question the TARDIS, and gasps when she hears the refrigerator door pop shut.

“Oh—hello,” the Doctor says, turning towards her. He has a half-eaten banana trifle cradled in his hands, and there are two mugs of steaming tea on the table. His eyes drift over her and he swallows, emotions caged behind a blank expression.

“Hello.” Her voice is soft as she approaches the table.

The Doctor watches her—no, observes, and it sets her further on edge. She looks away, focusing intently on the mug of tea, but can still tell his eyes are on her as she grabs for the chair to pull it out. Her hands pass through and she gasps, swaying forward. She tries again, and this time she’s able to make contact, but she can’t move the chair at all.

He sets the trifle down on the table. “Ro—” He swallows, blinking hard. “Rose.”

“What’s happened to me?”

He comes around to pull out her chair, fingers lingering on the back of it as she sits down.

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing.” She reaches for her tea but hesitates, afraid of the same result.

“Nothing?”

She decides to leave the mug alone for now. “No, I mean, I think my memory is coming back. I know who you are and who my mum is,” she chuckles airily. “I just don’t,” she draws in a shaky breath, “I just don’t remember what happened to make me, uhm, you know, like _this_. What happened to me?”

He sits down across from her and stares at the trifle, but she knows he’s really focusing on his thoughts. Working out what to say to her as he works his jaw.

“S’okay. Don’t have to talk about it if—“

“I don’t exactly know what happened. Not fully, but we’ll figure it out. I think,” he shifts, his posture relaxing a bit as he scratches the back of his neck. “I think you’re still, ahh, calibrat—er—adjusting! Yes. You’re still adjusting to what you went through. I’m sure your memories will return once you’re all sorted.”

She nods and hovers her hands around her mug again, feeling its warmth though she hasn’t yet made contact.

“Do you remember what you ate for breakfast?” he asks.

His question triggers the memory instantaneously. Her eyes widen at the relief it brings and she covers her mouth with her hands. The Doctor’s eyebrows raise and he tilts his head.

“I remember things now,” she says.

“Things?”

“Yes—um. I remember I woke up this morning and ate beans on toast. I was in my mum’s kitchen, though it was a lot bigger than I remember,” her voice trails off. No, this had to be a dream. “My dad was there, and some kid.” She looked across at the Doctor, whose expression was blank. “Nevermind. Guess I’m confusing dreams and memories.”

“Interesting,” the Doctor says, though not with his usual edge of curiosity.

“Am I,” she swallows, searching for the words. She doesn’t want to upset him further. “Why is the TARDIS teleporting me around?”

“That isn’t quite what—ah,” he tugs on his ear and leans towards the trifle, scooping out a bit of banana custard with his finger. He sticks it into his mouth and hums to himself. “Still delicious. I’ll tell you what. I don’t want to ever become someone who hates bananas. Did you know the bananas on Trevk make you float? They’re also very rare and the floating properties are a well-guarded secret. Eating a Trevk banana is a deep offense punishable by floating around town in your pants so everyone laughs at you.”

Rose grins. “Let me guess—you found out the hard way?”

“Oh, yes!” He grins back at her. “And they taste divine. Like the best bananas you’ve ever had—with a hint of cotton candy at the end. Mmmm.” He jams his fingers in the trifle for another taste.

“I’d like to try one of those bananas someday.” She watches him, still smiling.

His face falls just as he withdraws his fingers from his mouth.

“What? What is it? Was I there also?” She sighs, another memory to recover.

“Er, no. You weren’t. It’s just--Why don’t you finish your tea, and then I can run a few scans? In the medbay. Yes.”

“Kay.” She smiles as she closes her hands on the mug, and it’s hot and firm in her palms, invoking a swoop of hope that she’s back to normal. She tries to turn the handle towards herself, but the mug doesn’t budge, the tea inside remains as still as ever. She jerks her hands away and sits back in the chair, her smile gone.

The Doctor stands and returns the trifle to the refrigerator. He walks briskly past her and speaks over his shoulder before exiting the galley. “Come with me, please.”

“Where are we going?”

He pauses at the doorway before responding. “To my workshop.”

“’Kay…”

Rose barely has time to wonder why they’d go there as she disappears from the galley.


	3. Just a Simulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous iteration of this chapter was beta’d by @kilodalton and @abadplanwellexecuted. This iteration is unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine

The Doctor stops in the doorway of his workshop.  His breath catches at the sight of her, already there and nosing about. She bites her lip in front of a shelf of technological flotsam and jetsam, her eyes trailing over each item, bright with curiosity. She lifts up on her toes to look at a metallic tree-like object covered in little clear bulbs. 

“Oh, what are you?” she says with a smile permeating her voice. The tree lights up at her approach, dappling her skin in soft amber circles.

He wants to tell her what it is. He needs to have her turn that smile in his direction as he fills her mind with wonder, and he’s halfway to her before he halts. The story is poised at the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. He tears his eyes away from her and bolts over to the terminal.

"Right. Let’s sort this out.” He focuses on the screen as he brings up the Rose program.

"Why couldn’t we just look at the console terminal?"

He startles at the sudden closeness of her voice, fingers flattening over the terminal touchpad.

She steps around from behind him to stand at his side. “Sorry.”

“You’ve no footsteps,” he says.

“I’ll put a bell on.”

Her smile is back. He can hear it in her voice, and it’s such a lovely sound, but he doesn’t laugh like he might’ve before he lost her. Before he lost _Rose_. Now he’ll have to get used to her cluster photons disturbing the subsonic hum of his electromagnetic field whilst she’s around. Extensively more difficult to detect than breath, a pulse, and the smell of her skin under a layer of cherry blossom body wash, but not impossible. His eyes close as his mind fills in those sensorial spaces for him on impulse.

Oh, she asked a question, and he’s being a prat.

“It’s because the biotech scanner is here,” he says, softening his tone.

“Bio… biotech?” She jingles as she leans around to see what he’s doing.

“Mind going over there to that scanning bay?” He gestures to a semicircle platform nearby, eyes boring into the screen.

“What do you reckon is the matter? Usually you take me to medbay.”

Oh, she’s so perceptive. Of course she would be.

“Ehm, we’ll go there next. Testing a theory.”

“All right.” She shrugs, and wanders over to the platform. After inspecting it curiously, she steps up onto the smooth, metal surface.

He glances over at her once she’s in place. She stands still with arms by her sides at first, calm and ready. But as seconds tick by, one hand travels up to fidget with her earring, then a strand of hair by her face, and then she’s biting at her nail. His gaze drops to the steady rise and fall of her chest, and then travels up to her eyes, which blink eight times in the thirty seconds he realises he’s been staring at her–average rate for a human. But she’s not. He looks away again.

“Wh-what’s it gonna do?”

“It takes readings, compiles a status report, and other boring stuff. Most importantly, it should help us figure out what happened.”

“Will it hurt?”

“You’ll feel, err, I’m not sure what you’ll feel. Let’s go with a tingle. I’m going to start the scan.”

She nods, and he initiates the process. Her image flickers and shimmers as the machine does its work.

“All right?”

She nods. “Tingles.”

The data spheres he called up earlier appear on the screen, and his fingers rove over each one, displaying their contents in sequence. He sees how some of them are functioning now when they weren’t before–possibly memory spheres judging by how they’re connected. When the scan is complete, he presses on the screen to reveal the results. However only a summary is available, and a symbol for brainwave confirmation circles on the screen.

“All right, you can step away.”

“So what’s my diagnosis?” She tilts her head and looks at the terminal as she joins him.

“Well.” He tips his head to the side, skimming the summary. “It won’t let me look at the details. Needs your permission for that.”

“Okay, then. Granted.”

“Hang on. I want you to understand why before you give it to me.”

She fumbles with her earring, looking between him and the terminal apprehensively. “Oh…’kay.”

“I know that you’re a visual interface system that has sentience, or at least, that’s what you were before.”

He glances at her to assess her reaction. Her expression remains wary, but there’s an ever so slight twist to her lips that she gets whenever she’s working things out. He continues on, refocusing on the readouts.

“Ehm, you see, before, you required my brain to project yourself visually. Now, you’re…”

“I’m… a what?”

He clenches his hand into a fist at the tremble in her voice. He wants to hold her shoulders and reassure her, take her hand in his. He should at least sit with her so she can lean against him as she processes this news, but does none of those things. Instead, he wanders over to fidget with one of his many ongoing projects laying on the workbench.

“Weeeelll…”

“Don’t. You said I’m a visual interface system, what the hell does that mean?”

“No, no, no. That’s what you _used_ to be. Now, well, you’re still a programme, but—“

“Then make me human again! I can’t remember what happened, but there’s gotta be a way to reverse it, yeah? I can’t be stuck like this!”

He looked away with a frown.

“ _Doctor?_ ”

“You never were—listen.” He picks up a component of his project, evaluating it for newfound flaws to distract his mind from spiraling out into a panic. “I need your permission to access the data spheres so I can apply the scan results. Then I can tell you everything.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that thing where you close up and act like it’s nothing to keep me from getting’ upset. Please, Doctor. I can’t take it right now. What’s happening to me?”

He takes a deep breath, the ache in her voice like a lance in his heart. She’s right. He can’t stall. Might as well rip it off like a plaster.

“I know this is probably difficult to hear. Especially if…well, we’ll get to that point. I need your permission, because you are essentially a sentient programme. A very intricate and sophisticated programme, and I’m unable to access the data spheres I need in order to determine how you have, er, to determine how you work. Only you can. It’s attuned to your brainwaves.”

He speaks to her animatedly, though he keeps his attention focused at the contraption in his hands. He tinkers with it, remedying a few of the defects then and there. He places the contraption back on his workbench and turns to her, summoning the steely resolve to push through. She’s not looking at him anymore, which makes it a bit easier.

“The programme is still making pathways, like synapses forming in a baby’s brain, so it’s a bit sporadic right now. Soon you’ll be able to have more control over things. You look like–I mean you, ah, keep changing appearance because I have loads of pictures of Ro–er, well…you. All taken with permission of course.” He tugs at his ear as his cheeks flush. “But, ehm, it seems to be associating them with different emotions. Possibly due to micro-expressions in the images.”

“Stop. This is too much.” She steps backwards, arms folding around herself.

His embarrassment extinguishes at seeing Rose’s lovely face–whether she’s made of light or flesh and bone–etched with worry. Her eyes gloss over with unshed tears.

He holds up his hands in a gentle, placating gesture.

“I’m so sorry. It’s the truth, all of it.”

“Just…God.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “Can you tell me like a normal bloke would? I’m stuck like this, aren’t I?”

“All right,” he says gently. “You’re not Rose. You never were human. You’re a programme who thinks she’s Rose, and I’m trying to figure out why.”

She blinks away tears and shakes her head.

“You’re wrong. If I’m some programme, then how comes I feel like this? Like I—” She clutches her chest and her face wrought with sorrow. “I’ve got memories. They’re comin’ back, so you’re wrong! I’ve been stuck in a television, been chased by a werewolf—I’ve held the timestream in my body, and you’re tellin’ me it’s not real? That _I’m_ not real?”

“No, I’m not saying that you aren’t real. We’re having a conversation, aren’t we? You’re a very rare and advanced programme. You musn’t think of yourself as lesser because you’re not human.”

She holds out her arms to inspect herself. “Why ain’t I in a computer, then?”

“Technically, you’re a kind of hologram that’s being run by a programme.”

“If I’m a hologram, what am I made of?”

“Photons. Light projected by the TARDIS, and other particles, but–”

“I don’t feel like it.” She shakes her head ever so slightly and licks her lips as she runs a hand down her own arm.

“There’s a lot more to it. Do you need to sit?”

“I-I want to, but if I’m just some beam of light, how the hell could I need to sit, yeah?” She laughs disparagingly. “That’s why I can’t move anything, then. I’m a bloody hologram.”

He finds a stool anyway and offers it to her. “I think you’re still mending. You may be able to move things eventually–like I said, far more than a mere hologram. Time Lords were capable of producing holograms that could touch and be touched.”

Rose ignores the stool and turns to the terminal, her face beset with determination. She lifts her hand to the screen, initiating the brainwave scan. In an instant, the data spheres are unlocked, and reams and reams of information spills by. The Doctor averts his gaze, not feeling it’s his place to know all of it. She remains there for several minutes, seemingly in a trance, and he swallows as he waits for the process to complete.

At last, she withdraws her hand. “I remember now.”

He leans in, studying her expression, analyzing minute muscle movements to determine her general mood. The interface is so realistic, so precise, he keeps feeling like he could reach out and touch her. He’s suddenly overcome with how much he wants to, and closes his eyes, reining in the urge. It’s Rose he wants to touch.

When he looks again, she’s facing him, her eyes trained right at his.

“I remember touching that box under the console. It… it did something to me. Oh, god! Did I die? Did I get absorbed by the box and now I’m a hologram?”

He blinks, not following. “Hmm?”

“It all makes sense. I just, I mean–see. It was my first jump, and I found the TARDIS! I was so–” She stops, taking a calming breath as she relives the moment in her mind before she continues.  “And I went inside and sat down to wait for you, but that box caught my attention. Had that feeling like there’s someone in the room with me, but I couldn’t see anyone. I went to look at the box, but that’s–that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Your first–oh.”

“Now I understand why you were so upset. Oh, Doctor… What happened to me? To my, uh… body.”

“It’s… hang on. Your very first jump across the universe, you found the TARDIS and came inside.” He began to pace, piecing everything together.

“Yes.”

“You touched the box–which, by the way, was a highly sophisticated super weapon capable of destroying an entire galaxy–and POOF!” He claps his hands together. “It, to use your term, absorbs you. Your thoughts and memories and feelings up to that point, anyway. You said it felt like there was someone with you. Well, that makes perfect sense, as it was sentient. And then. AND THEN! The interface it, well…” he swallows, recalling the searing pain of regeneration and the warm balm of the kiss that allowed him to cheat death for a second time in a row.

“And then?”

He inhales deeply and sighs. “Why don’t we go somewhere less,” he waves his hand around vaguely. “And a bit more, erm–“ He shrugs. “Follow me?”

“Where to?” She glances at the terminal as he shuts it off.

“How about a surprise? So you don’t teleport.” He smiles and waggles his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” A brilliant smile blooms on her face.

He’s caught off guard by it, and once again finds it difficult to breathe.

“Doctor?”

He turns away from her.

“Let’s go.”

 

**

As they walk along the corridor in silence, his mind wanders to a distant beach in another universe. He plays the scene over in his mind more often than he’d care to admit, and wonders if she does the same. It feels like ages ago that he watched Rose kiss the other Doctor, watched him pull her into his arms and give in to the promise of a life with her.

He glances back at the Rose following along behind him. She smiles at him, and there’s a glint of joyful eagerness in her eyes that makes him wish he’d kept his eyes forward.

She isn’t Rose; Rose is gone. Tucked away safely in a parallel world with a parallel him and they’re happy. They’re picking out carpets, paying bills, having rows over silly things like who washes the dishes, and making up with anger-fueled kisses that grow tender as her hands slide up the back of his shirt to press against his skin.

He shakes away the thought before it breaks him in two.

This Rose was born from the possible manipulations of a sentient interface system. But, he can’t really blame the Moment. He’s the one who had to know what his younger self meant when he mentioned Bad Wolf Girl, and he’s the one who went against all reason and brought the weapon aboard his time ship to find out. He hadn’t felt persuaded to do it at all; it was a choice he made with a clear conscious, regardless of how skewed his perspective had become after Mars.

Still, he never expected this would happen. That there’d be another failed regeneration and another bloody metacrisis to contend with. This one… As soon as he can think of what to do with her, he’s going to do it. The harshness of his own thoughts surprises him, and he clenches his fists by his sides. No. He won’t take it out on her. She believes she’s Rose, as well she should. He believed the other Doctor was him, after all.

He sighs, feeling her move closer to him. His hand relaxes at his side, tingling with the expectation for her to grasp it like she would’ve before. She doesn’t.

At last they reach their destination and he puts distance between them, turning towards the door. He looks down at her, and she meets his gaze, her pleasant expression fading.

“What?”

“You all right, Doctor?”

“Of course; I’m positively keen. Why would I be anything else?” He beams at her.

“You had a scowl.” She glances at the door, her eyes roving over the Gallifreyan symbols for ‘Observatory III.’ He wonders if the TARDIS translates it for her now.

“Hm. Maybe the banana trifle isn’t agreeing with me. All right then, here we are.”

The doors open up to reveal endless black space dotted with gleaming stars. There’s a circular platform hovering just inside at the doorway, and the Doctor steps over to it.

Rose hesitates at the door, gaping. “Blimey… Why aren’t we getting sucked out?”

“This is just a simulation,” he says and lifts his sonic to a control panel by the door. The visual swirls and shifts until there’s a river of stars arcing across the black expanse. “See? Now we’re looking at a band of your Milky Way galaxy as though we’re floating in space below it.” He looks up at it. “Quite a distance away from it, but–come on, I’d like to show you something.”

She grins and joins him on the platform, which she inspects with a lifted eyebrow. It’s covered in pillows and blankets, which are kept from falling over the edge by a small guardrail.

“This is, wow. It’s… it’s, well.”

“It’s what?”

“A bit Casanova for you, yeah?”

He scrunches up his face. “Nothing of the sort goes on here. It’s just an observatory, one of three on the TARDIS, and sometimes I like to take a kip in here so I made it comfortable.”

“That’s sweet.”

“What?”

“I dunno. The thought of you sleeping in here, surrounded by stars.”

“It’s not sweet. I’m just sleeping, not entertaining a litter of puppies.”

“So you do sleep.”

“Of course I sleep.”

She has a little smirk on her lips that unnerves him. Her cheeks are also tinged with pink, and some part of him is really satisfied that he can still invoke that response in her, even on accident. Even if she’s a hologram. He sighs and aims the sonic again and the platform disengages from the entrance and floats out into the darkness. He can’t help but watch her as she looks up in awe at the stars that glitter overhead, and he’s never going to come to terms with this, is he? She’s as Rose as Rose ever was. Every minute she remains in his presence makes it all the more difficult to resist that perhaps the bloody universe has given him a gift. He should accept her and stop acting like a knob about it. But it was still too soon.

The platform comes to a stop, and the doorway at the far end of the room closes, completing the illusion that they are floating in space.

“Let’s have a seat, hm?” He says as he drops down on a pillow, legs crossed. He watches her, and feels a little jolt of happiness burst in his chest. It takes him by surprise, and for a second he lets it buzz under his skin, bringing a smile to his face.

Rose sits down across from him and reaches for a pillow, but it won’t budge as she tries to tug it into her lap. That’s all it takes. The wonder and warmth flees from her like a switch has been flipped, and she looks down, eyes focused at nothing in particular.

He sobers and picks up the pillow. He places it in her lap.

“Thanks.”

A smile, faint and brief, but a smile nonetheless, touches her lips, and she leans her elbows on the pillow. It doesn’t sink with her weight as a pillow should, but she seems to be content for the time being.

“So how does the room work?”

“I set the space-time coordinates, and it fetches a visual of the location. Everywhere the TARDIS goes, she collects information about our surroundings, and this observatory turns that data into an observable simulation.”

Her eyes roam across the stars again. “Blimey.”

“Your last memory is touching the box in the TARDIS.”

After a moment of stargazing, she looks at him and nods.

“What do you think happened after that?”

She toys with her hoop earring. “Um. I just remember standing in the console room and you looked so upset, so I wanted to see if you were all right.”

His brows draw together. “I see. It was your first jump you said.”

“Yeah.”

So she doesn’t remember finding him. She doesn’t remember being left in a parallel world with another him. Does this mean Rose was affected as well? A knot forms in his stomach. He scrubs his hands over his face and aims the sonic again, this time bringing up the nebula created by the Moment’s massive explosion.

It blossoms before them in strokes of vibrant red and gold with tinges of purple throughout. There’s an aura of billowing turquoise gas surrounding it, making it look a bit like a flower.

“What’s this now? It’s massive!”

“It’s a nebula. It was created when I launched that box you found into space and it exploded.”

They both fall silent, and he inspects it for evidence of protostar formation. He spies gravitational circulation at its core, the languid coalescing of plasma and gas that will eventually condense and give way to nuclear fusion. The Moment interface said something about becoming a star, and well, she got her wish. His eyes follow the outer edge of the billowing blue-green aura to settle on the Rose before him, and how she’s painted with the colors of the nebula.

“Did I make it explode? When I touched it, I mean.”

Her voice startles him out of his thoughts. “Oh, no. Not at all. If anyone’s responsible for this, it’s me.”

“Did it, um…,” she begins, looking down. “Did it hurt anyone?”

“No! Not at all. I’ve checked–well, up to a certain point in time.”

“Could we make sure?”

“Abso-total-utley.”

She chuckles, watching him with a coy eye.

“I’ll show you the entire life cycle.” He aims the sonic without looking, turning on his most dashing smile for her, and the visual around them swirls and darkens, and then brightens again with the light of a single, brilliant star.

“Looks like an ordinary star.”

“It is, except for how it came into being.” His stomach churns as the pull to finish explaining her existence could no longer be ignored. “And speaking of that. I’ve figured things out.”

She shifted and tilted her head, her gaze resting on him.

“The reason why touching the box is the last thing you remember, is because the interface took an imprint of Rose at that moment. Then, all it needed was a catalyst in the form of my regeneration energy to create you. Rose carried on separately from that event. She must have been pulled back to her universe, because I never saw her; my TARDIS was empty when I returned.”

Which was for the best, considering the state he was in at that time. It wasn’t long after that trip that the Ood had called him to the Oodsphere to tell him his song was ending.

“I’m the imprint.”

The Doctor nods. “Born of a human-sentient interface metacrisis.”

She furrows her brow, and he watches as she takes several long, measured breaths. She swallows, and when she looks at him this time, her eyes are guarded.

“What happened to me? Did I ever find you?”

“Oh, yes! After some time and several more attempts and near-misses.” His smile broadens, but there’s still a tangle of knots in his stomach. She’s holding back.

“Then why am I not here?”

His smile vanishes. “She…you wouldn’t stay.”

“Wouldn’t, or couldn’t?

He swallows hard. “Both. Yes, both.”

“How on earth could it be both? Why wouldn’t I want to?”

He sees the same fire in her eyes that was there on the beach, and he tears his gaze away from her as his chest constricts.

“There was a more fulfilling path available.”

“Shut up! There’s nothing more fulfilling in two universes than being here with you! Please, tell me the truth!”

“Fine.” He sighs, wanting nothing more than to have her ability to disappear. “You aren’t the only metacrisis event that has happened here. When Rose finally found me again, I was shot by a Dalek, and it triggered a regeneration, but–do you remember the hand I lost to the Sycorax?”

“Yes.”

“Jack found it and brought it back to me. I had it aboard the TARDIS, and I redirected my regeneration energy into it. Donna, she was travelling with me at the time, she touched it, which created another me. A part human, part Time Lord version of me who could spend the rest of his life with Rose. That’s where she is, in the other universe with him.”

Worry lines crease her brow. “You said he was created using your regeneration energy, yeah?”

“Yes. You were created in a similar way.”

“You - you were dyin’ when I—”

“Yes.”

Before she can ask, or feel guilty or sorry, he launches into the story of what lead up to his regeneration. She listens as she always had during his ramblings, with mild fidgeting and genuine interest. He explains how the weapon’s sentient interface had absorbed his regeneration energy, just like before with his hand–though along with enough radiation to make it unstable. She stares at her hands as he gets to the part where he transferred the interface program to the TARDIS before ejecting the box, and how he then discovered the program in her place.

“So, there’s another version of you with… with me.”

He nods. “She chose him. They’re happy together, so.”

“I see. You didn’t have a choice with me.”

The Doctor looks back at the star. “It’s not the same.” Or is it?

She reaches out to him, her fingers curling over the back of his hand. The touch sends a jolt through him, igniting a flood of memories and their respective emotional imprints. A vision of every time they’d ever touched rushes to the forefront of his mind, vying for his attention. He feels her skin, her warm, soft skin, and it’s his undoing. He pulls his hand away, and all at once, the psychosomatic feedback loop ebbs.

Now that’s interesting.

He breathes through his nose to further calm the tingling under his skin and in his mind. He keeps his gaze askance, and as flat as possible. She can’t know how it affects him. It would only upset her further.

“S-sorry. I just wanted to—“

“It’s okay.” He forces a little smile.

Her eyes fall to his hand, and she tilts her head and chews on her lip, working through what she wants to say next.

“Could you feel me just then? When I touched you.”

“Rose…”

“Nothing at all?”

He looks down, unable to answer, and not really sure why.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

There’s a stretch of silence, and then he senses her move closer to him.

“I would’ve chosen you, Doctor.”

He can’t take it anymore. He stands abruptly. “You would’ve made the wrong choice.”

“’Scuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“So it’s better to have never found you at all, ‘s that it? ‘Cos then none of this would’ve happened at all.”

“No!”

She stares up at him, startled. The tears in her eyes gleam with the light from the simulated supernova.

“No,” he tries again, softly. “That’s not it. I’m–I’m so sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. You never asked for it, and I’m sorry.”

She rises to her feet, pulling her hands into the cuffs of her shirt as she presses her palms together nervously. “Don’t blame yourself, Doctor. You couldn’t have known.”

He looks away, the ache in his chest growing with each passing moment.

She draws in a shaky breath. “I’ll go.”

He looks to her in time to watch her disappear, and he flinches as if she slammed a door. He stamps down his own brimming emotions and aims the sonic to follow the star’s lifecycle to its explosive end.

The massive supernova simulation unfurls before him, and his stomach drops. It’s one that he has seen before. Oh, he’s seen nearly all of them. But this one. This one is special. No, the Moment’s explosion and its resulting star hadn’t caused any harm in its entire life cycle, but it had enabled him to reach across to the other universe to say goodbye.


	4. Heart to Heart

That time she felt something. There’d been a little tug, like a fish on a hook, somewhere deep in her mind right before teleporting. Maybe, just maybe, if she focuses enough she might be able to resist it. Better yet—control it.  _Let’s not get ahead of ourselves._

She’d been distraught in the observatory, but now there’s a little swoop of joy in her heart. She smiles and crosses her room with a dance in her steps. It’s like the world is giving her a tiny bit of proof that she is still part of it, and not just a reflection of someone who used to be. 

It’s not fair, though. All she knows is being human. Why couldn’t the sentient box have given her some inherent knowledge to help her on her path forward? A data sphere for dummies. She thinks back to the tugging sensation, and decides she’s gonna figure this out on her own. It all starts with a thought.

She glances over to her en suite, and thinks about going there. There it is; that tug! Maybe if she–

She glares at her new surroundings. The sink, the shower stall, the loo. All things she doesn’t need anymore. Sobered, she glances at herself in the mirror. Her appearance hasn’t changed at all since the last time. Still that hardened, weary face in scuffed leather and dark colours, looking older than she feels. She picks at the cuff of her jacket; it’s the same she wore on her first jump, isn’t it? She removes it, and slings it through the doorway to her bed only for it to vanish in midair.

“That’s…something.”

She sighs. It makes sense, of course, that even the clothing on her back would be – what had he called it?  Photons or whatever. All part of the simulation. Perfect details that mimic reality. But it’s becoming clear that the reality is not meant to be viewed from her perspective. All of this–this teleporting at a mere thought, being unable to grab things, disappearing clothes–is definitely not real for her. She’s just particles and light, nothing of substance.

“Can’t even turn on the bloody faucet.”

She glares at it as though it’s to blame for all of this. The Doctor said that she might be able to move things once she’s stopped _calibrating_ , whatever that means. Oh, she knows what the word means, she’s not stupid. But what does that mean to the Doctor? Clearly, his mind is still set on her being a hologram. People don’t calibrate. She’d never be human again. She’d never be Rose to him as long as he thinks of her as something that can calibrate.

What wouldn’t she give to be able to spend a few days with her mum now. Her mum would know just what to do–a warm cuppa and a marathon of some mindless programme whilst they share a bag of crisps. She’d rub her back and know just what to say to get her mind off of things. But, she can’t. He can’t take her there. Her mum is in the other universe, locked away forever. Rose looks up to drive the threat of tears away. It was a sacrifice she’d been willing to make before, but now she’s not so sure.

The TARDIS hums, bringing her back to the present. She looks at herself in the mirror and watches herself blink. She hasn’t felt the urge to pee all day–or eat for that matter, and she can’t really remember when she’d done either last. Not having to do either would be nice for a while, until she misses the taste of marmite or her mum’s Christmas ham. And someday she’ll sit across from the Doctor in the galley with a full English breakfast before him whilst she watches and slowly forgets what eggs taste like.

That thought more than any reignites her determination to not just drift around like a ghost. She can do this. She _will_ interact with the world around her. She places her hand on the countertop, imagining what a countertop should feel like. Cold, hard, and smooth. And yeah, she’s able to feel it. She smiles a little to herself and opens her eyes, watching the path of her hand as she glides it along the porcelain sink to the faucet knobs. Her fingers dip along the little contours of the knob design, feeling the cool, firm metal. She then flexes her fingers to grip it. Heart in her throat, she twists her wrist, but nothing budges.

The TARDIS’s ever-present hum wavers, trying to catch her attention, and she looks up. “Yeah? Thanks for the encouragement, but… S’not gonna happen.”

The lights dim and brighten, and she feels a soothing sensation flow across the surface of her mind, drawing a smile to her lips. She remembers that feeling from before. Whenever she was down or defeated, the TARDIS would reassure her with such gentle, reassuring nudges. She never totally felt comfortable with letting the time ship have full access to her mind, but just enough for these gestures of friendship and comfort. They’d become a welcome aspect of their bond. It touched her that the ship still respected that boundary, even though she was just a program herself. Made her feel a bit more real.

“Thank you,” Rose whispers.

The TARDIS responds with another wavering hum, and it’s different. It’s persuasive, insistent. Rose tilts her head, sensing that perhaps the TARDIS is trying to tell her something.

The sink turns on and off on its own. It was the TARDIS, she’s certain.

“What’re you trying to tell me?”

The toilet flushes, and the lights dim and brighten again.

“Now you’re just showing off.” Her lip quirks, but then something dawns on her. The TARDIS is able to manipulate these things without hands.

“Are you saying I can move things without my hands, too?”

The TARDIS hums a reply, and it comes across a bit noncommittal. So, perhaps she’s on the right track. She tries to budge the knob again, and it doesn’t move. This is pathetic–how else can she move things if not with her own hands?

“It’s all I know!”

Tears prickle behind her eyes, and she storms out of the en suite to her room and flops on the bed.  She rolls over to her back and realises she forgot to turn off the light in the en suite and wishes she could just do it with her mind, even imagines herself doing just that. Why not? She can teleport, why should moving things with her mind be impossible?

“Hang on…” She sits up and looks around, spying an alien gossip rag on the bedside table, a corner sticking off the edge. She scoots to the side of the bed and her heart stutters in her chest when she remembers just why she’d left it open to that page. There’s an article about a city she had saved with the Doctor–a nugget of truth amid pages of rubbish. Of course the writer had to fixate on whether the ‘mysterious heroes’ were romantically involved to tantalize their readers. Rose smiles, remembering how the Doctor’s freckles had stood out against the pink tinge in his cheeks as he read, and how he’d squeezed her hand unknowingly until he looked up at her to find she’d leaned in a little closer, eyes focused on his lips. He’d stuffed the rag back in her hands and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck and nattering on about how he needed to go to some planet for some spare part or another.

That night they shared their first dance since he wore leather and gazed at her with blue eyes.

That’s it. There’s no giving up. She focuses on the magazine as intently as she can as she curves her fingers around its thin spine. Closing her eyes, she envisions picking it up, imagines how the floppiness of the glossy paper will be weighed down by gravity. Instead of thinking of it as an automatic process–as working her muscles–she first works her mind, willing the magazine to be manipulated by her contact. And then, once she feels confident, she lifts her arm in the air.

It shifts slightly, there’s a flutter of pages, but her hand slips away from it. She tries again, summoning all of the focus and intent she can muster, and lifts her hand to pick up the magazine. It doesn’t budge.

“Come on, Rose, you’ve got this.”

Attempt after attempt misses, however not all were complete failures. The magazine shifts, or the cover bends. Once she even had half of it lifted up in the air. These little successes keep her trying, and at last the whole thing rises along with her hand, her mind and muscle memory working in tandem. She squeals in excitement and brings the magazine to her chest.

“Oh, my God! I did it!”

She runs out of her bedroom, and into the quiet, dim corridor. The Doctor has probably left the observatory, but she avoids considering other options to prevent herself from teleporting. She takes a few steps down the curved hall, genuinely uncertain of where to go. Holding the magazine takes a lot of focus, however, and her mind slips to a suggestion of the console room. She tries to ignore the thought, and forces herself to just see the corridor itself when she feels the tug, but it’s too late. In a blink, she appears just further down the corridor.  The magazine smacks the floor behind her where she’d been standing.

It’s a kind of progress, though, so it doesn’t discourage her.  A few minutes later, she’s back on track with the magazine in hand. Step after step, she moves, envisioning nothing but her present surroundings as she goes. If only she were like the Doctor and could process a hundred threads of thought at a time, she could simultaneously envision the corridor, focus on holding the magazine, and think of heading to the console room without teleporting.

Then a strange thing happens. She finds that she _can_.

Onward she walks, focuses, and thinks. She doesn’t remember the route taking so long in the past, but perhaps the TARDIS has extended the corridor to give her time to master her mental tasks. Eventually it becomes second nature, and she doesn’t have to focus anymore.

When she arrives in the console room, she’s relieved that the Doctor is there and she doesn’t have to go on a mad hunt for him. He’s standing before the monitor, shoulders hunched as he leans his hands on the edge of the console. She walks forward but skirts a bit to the side to get a clearer view of his face. She doesn’t want to bother him, especially after upsetting him in the observatory. Images flicker by on the screen and illuminate his face and hair. They’re going by too rapidly for her to see what he’s studying, but she focuses instead on his set jaw, the deep dimple in his cheek, and his furrowed brow. There’s a familiar softness in his eyes, belying an undercurrent of sorrow in that cage of a glare.

She’s not sure if he notices her presence, and she rolls the rag in her hand, thinking it might be best to talk to him about it later. She looks down at it and turns to go when she hears him clear his throat.

“Don’t go.”

Rose looks up, struck by the tremor in his voice.

“S’okay. I can come back if you’re busy.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world now,” he says as he turns towards her with a wink and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Still the same ol’ me.”

“Yeah, that’s,” she sucks in a breath–that’s good? Oh, how awful would that sound? Sorry you’re suffering, but at least you still’ve got that same gorgeous face? She decides not to label it and waves the thought away entirely.

“Look.” She brandishes the magazine, unable to hold back her grin. There’s a little guilt she feels for smiling when he’s so down, and she bites on her lip.

“What–oh! OH!” He bounds over to her, long limbs all unwieldy with excitement, and his smile deepens to something much more genuine. It makes her heart leap up and nudge a laugh from her lips.

“You’ve done it!” His hands hover around it, not touching, but as if to behold something sacred. His eyes are wide with wonder, and the tip of his tongue presses against his top teeth.

“Watch this.” She takes it with both hands and flips it open, letting the pages fan out.

“Blimey, look at you.” He stands up straight and tilts his head as he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “Rose Tyler, I knew you could.”

Her heart flutters at the sound of her name rolling off of his tongue. His eyes drift away from her.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“Yeah, I just sort of, um, focus. I picture myself picking it up, visualize it, yeah? And then I grab and lift, and it worked! Not at first, mind. Had to try it a couple – a lot of times, but I did it.”

“Brilliant! You’ll be making toast and tying shoe strings in no time.” He rocks back on his heels and then swivels around to head back to the console.

“The TARDIS, she sort of suggested it.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thing is, not really sure what it is I’m doing.”

“Telekinesis, most likely,” he says, sliding on his specs. He leans towards the screen with a focused squint.

“Like a superhero?”

“Like a super-advanced holographic, artif–er,” he pushes the glasses up on his nose as he diverts his statement, “young woman.”

She half wonders what he was going to say before glancing at the screen as she joins him, tossing the magazine to the jump seat on the way. “What’s up?”

“Mm? Oh. I’m studying your program. I mean, not–it’s not like that. I promise I’m not snooping.” He glances at her and then back at the screen. “I just want to see if I can find anything to indicate whether… whether Rose was affected.”

“You mean… yeah. Why d’you think something bad could’ve happened to her?” She tilts her head and looks at the screen along with him.

The Doctor closes his eyes a moment, and that dimple reappears.

“Because, when the other Doctor was created, it almost killed Donna. I had to… I had to take her memories of me and our travels to keep her safe and alive.”

Rose feels like the blood she doesn’t even have drains from her face. “Oh, god…How fast did it start to affect her?”

“Right away.”

“But you saw me again, and I was okay. I hadn’t been harmed, yeah?” _Please, say yes._ The guilt is like a heavy weight, pulling her down. Her own voice sounds so far away.

“As far as I knew.”

“You think you’ll be able to tell from my program?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and switches the visual on the screen to something else. “Worth trying. Meanwhile, I’m analyzing the entire spatial-temporal matrix to make sure this universe isn’t being eaten alive by reapers. You remember those nasty buggers? Find it hard to believe such a paradox will go unavenged.”

“Why reapers?” She shudders inwardly at visions of wide, leathery wings and grotesque, sharp-toothed maws.

“Because I didn’t change.”

“Oh. And you were supposed to.”

He nods, and she can’t see his eyes for the reflections from the screen.

“How do you know?”

“I met myself. My future self.”

“But your future self wouldn’t tell you how you become him, yeah?”

The Doctor stands up straight. “No. No, he wouldn’t.”

“So, how do you know that this wasn’t always supposed to happen?”

He looks at her for a long moment, though she knows he’s not really seeing her. He’s seeing his thoughts painted in the air between them. She takes a step towards him, and he blinks out of his trance.

“No.” He looks back at the monitor. “Something’s wrong. I was in my–his–TARDIS, and–well.”

“But–”

“I’d know if you were there, and you weren’t. And I could feel it… the timelines, they–” He sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. “They were frayed; had a recent beginning. This is… No. Yes–wait.” He puts his fingers to his temples. “Is it? This is a new universe? That’s a… that’s, well. It’s something.”

“Then how could it be a paradox? New universe, think it’d have its own rules.”

He waves a hand around dismissively. “This is all just conjecture. Too early to tell, so, sticking to the paradox problem until I know otherwise. Occam’s razor; lex parsimoniae. Better to be safe.”

When he returns to the monitor this time, he curses under his breath. “There’s not a single way to tell.”

There’s a beat of silence between them, and the humming of the TARDIS sounds louder than usual. He sighs and scrubs his hands up his face to rub his eyes, pushing his glasses askew.

“All this time I thought she was safe forever,” he says to himself. After a moment of still reflection, he resumes his single-minded quest, fingers punching in a command. She senses the conversation is over, and she looks down at her feet.

She knows he’s talking about the other Rose, and her heart aches behind the barrier of silence he builds between them. It aches with empathy, for she remembers the pain of being separated from him with no way of knowing if he’s okay. It aches with jealousy. She’s still just a simulation in his eyes, and he’s focusing all of his energy on the woman he views as the real Rose. That’s so petty, ain’t it? Jealous of herself. She feels her face pinching into a scowl and relaxes it before he can see her.

But he’s not even looking.

More than anything, she wants to reassure him. To just reach out and take his hand. With what happened last time, well, she’d better not. But holding back is more painful than she can bear. Her mind reels with alternatives, and the first idea that surfaces is something he’d never agree to. She exhales, marveling for a moment that she even can. Her hands tremble. There’s a brittle sting of tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat. Nothing about this feels like a hologram.

“There’s something we can do.”

“I don’t really fancy chips right now.”

“No, not that.” She clenches her fists and feels the bite of her nails against her palm, wishing she could cast off her emotions and watch them disappear like her jacket had done.

“We can go back and keep all this from happening. S’just me and you here, and you said no one was harmed by the star, that means no one knows but us. So, yeah, I think that’s-that’s what we should do. ‘M all right with it. Won’t even know I existed.”

 

“Can’t. It’s impossible.”

“You always say that! How is it impossible this time?”

“The star had to happen.”

He turns to her fully, his face blank. “The star always happened. It goes supernova, and–well. It had to happen.”

“But–but I didn’t always happen.” She approaches him, feeling more certain. “We can fix that bit. Go back and keep me from finding the TARDIS on that tropical island. Leave yourself a note to blow up the box to create the star like always. Problem solved, yeah?”

There’s a flicker of relief in his eyes, but it dissipates in a snap. “No. Too much of a risk.”

“There has to be a way!”

“Do you wanna disappear? Is that it!?” he shouts, voice engulfing the console room.

She flinches, but doesn’t back down. “I don’t want you to suffer!”

“Yeah, well. Bit late for that!” He turns from her and glares at the monitor. Back to his search.

Rose fights back tears. More than anything she wants to know what happened to the human Rose, if not for her own self-understanding, then for the Doctor. So he knows the weapon hadn’t harmed the Rose he obviously cares for so much by creating a mere copy. So he knows she’s safe. Rose slams her hands down on the console, consumed by frustration and grief.

Without warning, a jolt sizzles through her body, and all she sees is a flash of golden light before everything goes dark.

When she awakens, she’s staring up at a too-bright sky. She shields her eyes and rolls over to sit up, finding herself in a vast field of wildflowers. They’re all colours of the rainbow, and they undulate with every sweeping rush of wind.

“Where the hell am I?”

Light flickers in the corner of her eye. She looks at her forearm. There are patches of translucence on her skin, and within these patches, thin paths of circuitry branch through like veins. Tiny lights race along the pathways, and she tears her eyes away from the horror of seeing herself for what she really is. Her pulse rockets, and she wants to scream that she has no bloody pulse. But she can feel it, along with a prickle of fear up her spine. It’s enough to steal the cries from her throat.

She stares ahead in silence instead. Her eyes settle on a figure in the distance that she didn’t notice before. She blinks hard and squints through the bright sun, trying to discern who it could be.

“Hello?” she calls, but her voice is engulfed by the wind.

The figure seems to notice her presence as well, and begins to walk towards her.

“Doctor!”

There’s no reply, but for an echo.

Rose pulls herself forward, and each step is like wading through high water. The sun glares overhead and sends shards of light across her field of vision, obscuring her surroundings until she’s cast into a pure white void.

The other person is there too, and they continue to walk towards each other. When they’re close, Rose gasps as she recognizes her own windswept blonde hair, too-wide jaw, and sharp eyes. Finally, as they’re a within conversation distance, the other Rose’s expression turns wary.

“I don’t remember this,” the other Rose says, looking her over. “Where’s the Doctor?”

Rose’s mouth opens and closes as she struggles to think of what to say.

The other Rose takes a guarded stance. “Where am I? Go on, say something!”

“Why are you wearing a summer frock?” What a stupid first question to ask herself.

“Ah, so you can talk. Tell me how I got here. Who’re you?”

Rose looks up and around with a shrug. “No idea, sorry. I don’t even know where here is. One moment I was in the TARDIS, and the next–“

“So was I,” the other Rose says, regarding her with scepticism. “But I haven’t looked like you since before when I was-,” She swallows and takes a step closer.  “So, this has to have already happened. I just don’t remember.”

“I don’t think this could’ve ever happened.” Rose closes her eyes when she senses a distant sound. It’s like the hum of the TARDIS. “And I’m sure I’ve never owned that frock.”

“But you look like some kinda, I dunno. Some kind of machine.”

Rose looks down at herself. The translucent patches in her body have spread and grown. They flicker and disappear, only to reappear again, like a worn out neon light. She also feels off. Hard to put a finger on it, but there’s definitely something going wrong to cause the appearance glitches. She frowns, dread flashing in her heart. When she musters the strength to look back up at the other Rose, she notices something beyond her. Something faint and tall.

“What’s that?”

“What?”

She doesn’t answer, just rushes towards it, feeling it pull her like a kite on a string. The closer she gets, the more solid it becomes. It’s a tree. A massive tree that stretches up to the white void overhead. Its branches, full of leaves, reveal themselves as though she’s painting it to life with her eyes. She looks down to the gnarled roots that fan out from the trunk and into solid earth. Turning back to the other Rose, she sees they are now in a dense forest, with this tree the largest of them all.

“Blimey,” the other Rose says, joining her.

“Listen.” Rose leans to the tree and places her hand on its rough surface. It’s a heartbeat, sure and strong, and she can feel the pulse vibrate through the trunk. “We’re in the Heart of the TARDIS.”

She’s not sure how she knows, or how to verify the statement, but it’s a truth as solid as a tea kettle. There was that hum before, and now there’s a familiar, reassuring presence brushing over the surface of her mind. She smiles and looks back at the other Rose, who appears to have come to the same conclusion, her hand also resting on the trunk of the tree.

“The TARDIS can bring us together,” Rose says, marveling at the future version of herself in the frock and white thongs.

“I’m still not sure what’s going on.”

“I think I know now. You’re in the other universe with the other Doctor, yeah? And you’ve got a TARDIS somehow.”

The other Rose nods, brow furrowing. “And you’re from my past when I was still looking for him.”

“Not-not quite. I mean, yes, that’s sort of true, but do you remember going into the TARDIS on your first jump? And there was that box.”

“Yeah.” She shudders and wraps her arms around herself. “Awful thing.”

Rose bites her lip, sensing her discomfort. She looks down at her feet as guilt strikes her stomach, making her feel heavy. She takes a steadying breath as she pulls together the words to explain. Just as she opens her mouth, a tremor of static flows over her body, and the translucent patches of circuitry on her arms and torso brighten, spark, and then fade away.

The other Rose reaches out. “You all right, then? What’s happening?”

“Forget it.” She shakes her head and takes another deep breath. “Listen, there’s something you have a right to know about what happened when you touched that box.”

The other Rose hangs back, her hand still on the tree. “M’listenin’. Go on and tell me.”

“When you touched it, it took an imprint of you. Thoughts, memories, feelings, DNA… everything like that. It stored it until it had the right kind of energy to create a copy of you. And that’s who I am.”

“Right kind of energy?

“Yeah, um… he said it happened before. A metacrisis?”

The other Rose gasps, realising. “You mean regeneration energy–he did that. That’s how he made… So, he’s regenerated, then?”

“No.” She laughs at the absurdity of it all. “No, the box absorbed the energy and radiation that was killing him.”

“Completing the process and creating you.”

Rose glances up the trunk of the tree. “Yeah. I was talking to him just before—”

“You—you were talking to him? The Doctor?”

“Yes.”

The other Rose puts her hand over her mouth. “You’re with him? On the TARDIS?”

Rose has to look away. It’s a special kind of unnerving to see tears in your own eyes before you feel the sting.

“He’s worried sick that you could’ve been affected when you touched the box. I wanted so badly to be able to know, to reassure him. Then I touched the console and…. Well, I suppose I teleported here. Probably brought you here, too.”

The other Rose hastily wipes tears from her eyes and sniffles. “I don’t think I have, been affected that is… unless you count this. I was just talking to the Doctor myself. We were getting ready to take our TARDIS on its first voyage.” She smiles briefly. “I gotta go back.”

“So, you… You have your own TARDIS?”

“Yeah! Um… the Doctor, he gave himself a chunk of TARDIS coral so we could grow our own. And we have. It’s… it took the form of a workshop cabinet the moment it matured.” She smiles, and lines fan out from the corners of her eyes. It’s the first time Rose realises that this Rose is older. Not just from her future, but aged. There’s also an engagement ring and wedding band on her finger.

Tears fill her eyes, staring at the rings. “What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“To see him again for the first time.” She opens her eyes as the tears slip down her face. She wipes them away quickly and ducks her head, feeling silly for crying in front of her older self. “Was he happy to see you?”

The other Rose squints at her in confusion. “You don’t know?”

“No. I only remember up to touching the box. Anything after is separate from you.” She swipes a long strand of hair from her face. “I don’t think he was happy to see me. So. I just want to know.”

“He was, yeah. He ran to me with this massive grin. ‘M not sure if I’ve ever seen him run that fast.” She smiles, looking off in the distance at the memory. “I ran to him too, of course. Happiest moment of my life–but he was shot by a Dalek in the road before we could reach each other. It’s how he began to regenerate.”

Rose relents, and lets the tears fall. “And now you’re with the other him and you’re happy together.”

“We have our moments, but, yeah. Ten years later. Still together, still travelling.” She frowns despite the joyful tone of her story, and reaches out towards her arm. “What’s wrong?”

Rose backs away a step. “Best not.” She flinches as another tremor of static hits. This one takes longer to go away, and the blotches in her image expand further.

The other Rose regards her pensively for a beat. “My husband is part Time lord, part human, on account of the metacrisis. So you’re part me, and… what? What was that box?”

“A super weapon created by ancient Time Lords that could destroy a galaxy. It had an interface system that developed sentience. So. Part holographic interface program, that’s me.” She looks up at the other Rose coolly in an attempt to affect control over her rioting emotions.

The other Rose nods and inhales deeply. “Why would it use me that way?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t remember ever being that box. But–”

“So in a sense, I’m with the other Doctor.” She looks up to meet Rose’s eyes.

“I, um. He doesn’t quite see me as he used to,” Rose says, toying with her hoop earring and averting her eyes. “Like he’d see you.” She catches sight of her arm, of her deteriorating image and drops her hand to her side abruptly. “Hasn’t been long at all since I was created.”

The other Rose wets her lips with her tongue, her hand drifting along the bark of the central tree. “I think I understand a bit of why, but give him some time.”

“You aren’t upset at me?”

“Wha? Why would I be?”

“That box–it, it took things from you without… And, and I’m here and now there’s this, this–” She begins to pace, doing her best to avoid tripping over roots. “This potentially catastrophic paradox about to rip everything apart, ‘cos the Doctor was supposed to regenerate, but he didn’t, and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. You’re here–I pulled you here. M’sure of it. You didn’t ask for that either, so what am I but a-a thing. Just a hologram that could destroy the–yeah. Yeah, I am part galaxy-destroying weapon. Makes a load of sense now.”

“But you didn’t do all that. You’re not that box anymore, yeah? You said yourself. You don’t remember. You became me, and so, that’s who you are now. You’re me, and I’m you.”

Rose shakes her head, long fringe falling across her eye. “You just tell me right now. Tell me if you don’t want me to be here and I’ll–when I go back, I’ll figure out how to delete myself. I’m run by a program, did I tell you? I’m a bloody machine!”

“Hey–‘kay, listen. I haven’t really thought about that box in a long time. I told the Doctor that I found the TARDIS once and there was a box, but he didn’t remember any box, and I thought it was best to drop it. He pressed a bit, wanted to run some tests and didn't find anything. I didn’t really think anything had happened anyway. I feel fine, yeah? It’s all right. I’m okay. I’m safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Maybe I can meet you here without being harmed when we’re both in the TARDIS, and that’s what it did. Not so bad, yeah? Look, maybe I can give you the rest of my memories Would that–”

“No, I… no. Those are yours to keep. I’ll make new ones, and, yeah. I think that’s best.”

The other Rose smiles slightly. “All right.”

“Mind if… mind if I tell him you’re okay?”

“Sure. Is–how is he?”

Rose looks down. “He’s… not doing well. He’s sad. And he’s worried.”

“But he has you now.”

Rose looks up at her. “He has you.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

“He’ll be okay.” She smiles. “You’ll figure things out, and… yeah.”

Rose takes a long look at her older self, at the wisdom in her eyes and the gentle reassurance in her smile. She could be upset. Upset and hurt that a mere copy of her gets to spend time with the Time Lord Doctor, a man she once crossed universes to find. But, she’s not. Instead, she… she’s happy. She’s content with her life, with the half-human Doctor, and views this whole situation with a level-headedness beyond Rose’s ability to muster.

Feeling stronger, and just a bit more hopeful, Rose steps closer to her older self and leans against the tree. “I’m glad I got to meet you.”

“Me too.”

“I suppose I… suppose I should let you go back to your maiden voyage.” Rose smiles.

“Yeah, the Doctors are definitely worried about us.” She grins. “Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“Maybe.” She gives a little wave, still smiling.

“Bye!” As the other Rose lets go of the trunk of the tree, she fades out of sight.

Rose is left alone in the primordial forest. The heartbeat of the enormous tree soothes her, and she presses her ear against it, imagining that this single tree held the entire universe together. Wanting to rest, she sits down on a root when a painful shock strikes her. She looks down at her hands in time to see them sizzle and spark, and then everything fades away.

When she opens her eyes this time, she’s staring up at the domed ceiling of the TARDIS console, the glowing central column in her periphery. The Doctor’s face appears over her, and she hears the trill of his sonic as he sweeps it up her body.

“There you are! You disappeared, and I started to get these bizarre readings, and I wasn’t sure what happened. Where did you go? What happened?” He said, his dark eyes boring into hers, eyebrows tilted in deep concern.

“Doctor,” Rose says, a faint smile drifting to her lips. “I’m… I saw her. Rose.”

He looks down at the sonic. “You’re damaged. Badly so. Probably hallucinating.”

“I wasn’t, it was real.” Rose pushes herself up and realizes she’d been lying on the jump seat. The Doctor watches her from his knees by her side, swaying backwards so he’s careful not to touch her.

 

“You appeared here,” he says, concern returning. “Whatever happened, it caused extensive damage. Rose, you–don’t do it again, whatever it was.” He looks down at his sonic again. “Please, don’t ever.”

The sheer euphoria that fills her up to the top of her head at his concern for her safety makes her smile, and her smile makes him tilt his head and give her that adorably puzzled expression. She wants to wrap her arms around him and breathe him in like there could never be anything else in the entire universe more fulfilling than being in his arms. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip instead, and closes her eyes, imagining it in as much detail as she can.

“I was in the heart of the TARDIS,” she admits, licking her lips. “She’s all right, Doctor. I’m all right, and I’m with you and we’re married. The TARDIS, it’s fully operational, and…”

The Doctor’s face goes blank at her words.

“She’s safe, Doctor. I’m safe.”

And she just can’t help it. She reaches up to touch his face, to cradle his cheek in her hand, and it feels like coming home.


	5. Till the Universe Dissolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was previously beta'd by Kilodalton. The updated version is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> "Till the Universe Dissolves" is from a poem by Rumi

The Doctor’s mind surges with her memories from the heart of the TARDIS at the lightest touch from her fingertips. He feels everything, hears it all, pouring through every synapse and on to every cell. The sonic skitters across the grated floor as he falls to his knees.

His beloved, human Rose stands right before him in his mind’s eye. Her hair, partially pinned back with combs, hangs around her bare shoulders, the ends curling against the dip of her clavicle. The rings on her finger glint in the sunlight that filters through the leaves above, and he knows the other him is the one who gave them to her. Who else would’ve known how to twist Vellsharian platinum into such a specific, Gallifreyan pattern around meteorite crystals from the Thresee galaxy? He wonders what else that other version of himself had stashed in the pockets of that blue suit.

Her dress is pale blue denim, and gathered at the waist, with a trim of white lace around the hemline. He knows they’re heading for Barcelona—Spain, not the planet—and in the seventies, from the look of her. Precisely where he would’ve taken her. Somewhere warm and ancient and far from the cold ocean of Norway.

Relief that she’s okay, and regret grapple for authority of his emotions, making his stomach twist. He’s sure he made walking away from her look so easy, but if there’s one thing he’s learnt how to do over the centuries, it’s to pretend.

His hands tremble with desire to reach out and feel the soft curve of her shoulder. Her skin is glowing, her eyes bright and warm. She’s happy and healthy and everything that he isn’t, and he chokes out her name. The aching and longing and the need to be held by her rush to consume him like fire, filling his veins and making his hearts pound and it’s just too much to bear. He fumbles around for the sonic and springs to his feet. His chest heaves as he braces himself against the console.

It takes several moments for her memories to play out to their completion. For the sound of Rose’s voice to quiet, and for his hearts to stop thrashing in his chest. Once it’s over, he’s dizzy with grief and joy, a bizarre blend that addles him, but it’s one he’ll have to grow used to. Shaking his head with eyes squeezed shut, he tries to bring himself back to the present.

Rose struggles to sit up on the jump seat. Her face is stricken with alarm as a shockwave of energy bolts through her, causing her to flicker in and out of existence. The translucent patches of dancing lights that cover her body glow brighter afterwards. She collapses back against the jump seat, fists clenched at her sides.

“Rose!”

The Doctor swoops down to kneel next to her, his sonic out to gather readings. He squeezes it a bit too tightly as he fights the urge to touch her. It gives a sharp whir and singes the pads of his fingers with a jolting current. He curses, switches it to his other hand, and resumes his task more carefully.

“ _Please_ , you musn’t ever do that again.”

“’M sorry. I—I was so happy to see you. Wasn’t thinking.”

Her cheeks pinken with shame. She looks away, drawing the hand she touched him with across her stomach where she fists her shirt.

He’s confused at first, certain he hadn’t been in her memories, until he glances down at her hand. The hand she’d touched him with.

“Not that,” he says gently. “I meant don’t go to the Heart again. Not even for a second.”

She looks up at him. Her hand relaxes and her brows draw together. “I had to—I mean, I didn’t mean to at first.”

“Did you know what was happening to you?” He moves the sonic over a particularly nasty holo-wound on her forearm.

“Yes, eventually... But when I realized where I was and saw myself there, I had to make sure she was all right.”

“Why? You could’ve been killed!”

Her eyes fill with tears, and she smiles. “For you. You’ve been so worried.”

He looks away, swallowing thickly.

“I, um, didn’t know it would pull her there with me, but it didn’t hurt her. I promise. She didn’t seem to be in pain or anything.”

“She’s protected by the Heart. It’s something I discovered whilst you were away,” the Doctor says, looking at his sonic. “Always will be. Ever since they joined. Still can’t believe she did such a thing, can you imagine? No, wait. Yes I can.”

Rose stares at him in silence, her head canted forward as if waiting for him to say something else.

“What?”

There’s a resigned sigh and she sits up. “Can you stop referring to us as two separate people?”

“But, you are.” He tilts his head and looks up. “Well, after a point.”

“Yeah, and we weren’t back then. Back when I…” She takes in a deep breath and shakes her head. “So I should be protected also, yeah? But, guess I’m not.”

“Oooh, right. Sorry.” He sniffs as he changes a setting on the sonic and sweeps it over another holo-wound on her knee. “You’re powered by it, so this is more like feedback, or a short circuit.” He stands once he’s finished with his scan, and turns towards the console. He then works to isolate the last bit of damage in her programming caused by her malfunction. Once it’s complete, he turns around to see that she’s no longer flickering, and the blotches are beginning to fade. It draws a smile to his lips.

“How do you feel?”

She holds her head. “Better, yeah. Thank you. How long was I gone?”

“Couple hours. Might not have seemed like that long for you. Not that it’s long for me.”

“Hours? Blimey.”

“Mm. I thought you’d just popped back to your room until I started getting warnings on the monitor. Then you reappeared here looking like…like—”

“Like a freak?”  There’s a bit of a bite in her voice.  She stands and looks at herself in disgust. “Yeah, I look bloody awful.”

“You’re mending up, though.” He flashes her a grin that slips too quickly. “You’ll need to rest. It takes a lot of energy to heal from such a traumatic injury. Maybe have a lie down. Watch a bit of telly, you know. I could pop over to a London chippy and—well. That won’t—I would, but…” He frowns.

“S’okay.”

He stands. She watches him, face flushed with pupils wide and dark. She’s drinking him in, the height and width of him. Every angle and narrow line.

He tilts his head, eyebrow lifting. She’s looking at him as though he’d just recited Rumi against her neck. _You and I will be together until the universe dissolves._

The words pound against his chest, and he remembers how he wanted to be with her for the rest of his days. Bugger that; he still does. It’s the very reason why he let that sodding duplicate of himself confess the words she longed to hear. His throat grows rather dry, and he swallows, envisioning the human Rose from the heart of the TARDIS, the soft fabric of her dress brushing against her thighs. He blinks and refocuses on the Rose before him. Her leather jacket is gone, bearing the gleam of a silver chain that disappears beneath the neckline of her maroon shirt.

They move closer to each other, and he knows under normal circumstances, he’d dive in for the most dazzling embrace he could muster to celebrate that she’s okay and he’s still alive and they’re still together. But these are far from normal circumstances. In fact, they could be downright dire. His eyes drift over her, memorizing every digital wound, and he hates himself for bringing the bloody Moment on the TARDIS. He hates that Rose has to live like this without having had any apparent choice in the matter. His fists clench and the sonic zaps him again.

“GAH!”

He flaps his hand and sucks through his teeth.

“What? What happened?”

“Nothing. Pressed the wrong thing,” he says as he jams the sonic back in his suit pocket.

She raises her eyebrow.

“Rose Tyler,” he says, voice trailing as he wraps acknowledgement around that name being paired with the woman before him. He was going to apologize for… for everything. Again, probably. But he loses himself in her concerned gaze, and all of his thoughts scatter.

They’re even closer now. Perfect hand-holding distance, but they both stand there with their arms at their sides. And yet, their eyes are locked as though if they stare long enough, they’ll be able to feel each other’s heart beat. Rose is the one who breaks it as she licks her lips, drawing his attention to the innocent little motion.

“What?”

It takes him a moment to realize he spoke aloud. His eyes dart back up to hers.

She shakes her head, and a small, cheeky smile nudges her lips. “Nothing. Think I’ll go watch telly for a while. Yeah, that sounds nice. Sounds normal.”

“Oh! Good idea. Don’t we still need to finish off that, ah, the twenty-second century remake of Firefly?” He rocks back on his heels with a smile.

She bites her nail. “Oh, yeah. We was watching it before,” she pauses, glancing down, “before Canary Wharf.”

“Yep.” His smile unexpectedly sticks. All the better. He really doesn’t want to go down yet another rabbit hole of self-loathing at the moment, so he keeps his body language buoyant and welcoming. For her.

Her face brightens. “You’ll come with me?”

“Of course! Unless you wanted to be alone?”

“No, I’d love you to come!”

Her lips quirk, but she looks askance. Her lashes form a shadow that brushes across her cheek, and her breath hitches. She purses her lips together.

“Good,” he says softly, wanting to brush his thumb over her cheek until she turns her eyes back up to him, but shoves his hands in his trouser pockets instead. What’s gotten into him? She’s a hologram. She’s not… she isn’t— He pictures his human Rose from the memories, her hair longer, and the colour of honey in sunlight, strands rustling gently in a drifting breeze. There’d been an unmistakable spark in her eyes, reassuring him that she has everything she could ever want out of life. His mind replays the words she spoke to this Rose. They embed themselves in his hearts, syllable by syllable.

_‘You became me, and so that’s who you are now. You’re me, and I’m you.’_

_‘He has you now.’_

Sighing, he lets a seed of acceptance take root. How could he defend with his last breath that he and the other Doctor are the same man, and then question the identical truth about this Rose? How could he find peace in knowing that somewhere in the multiverse, he and Rose are living a life he never thought he could have, whilst rejecting that the same possibility could be unfolding for him right here?

As miraculous as it sounds, being unable to touch this Rose without accessing thoughts and memories and physical sensations made it more difficult. An instant mental bond, no barriers to protect either of them. It was too much. Too untamed, and he could very well become drunk on it if he let down his guard.

He felt the hum of the TARDIS wash through his mind, reassuring him.

“You all right, Doctor?”

He blinks, and inhales deeply. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t teleport,” Rose says. “When I mentioned going to watch telly. I felt the tug, and ignored it.” She takes a few steps toward the corridor.

“Brilliant. You’re brilliant.” He takes a long step to be by her side. “Are you okay to walk, then?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Good.”

Off they go. He glances her way every now and then, reassuring himself that she’s all right. She’s not flickering anymore, though he can tell the healing has slowed.

“Some rest will definitely help,” he says out loud without meaning to.

A smile returns to her lips. Her eyes dart up to him. 

“You say that like I’m not a hologram.”

“Well, you _are_ part human. I keep saying you’re more than just a hologram.”

She inhales, the smile deepening as her pace picks up a little. After a moment, she slows and tilts her head.

“Did it hurt? When I, um, when I touched you.”

“N-no. Why?”

“You practically jumped out of the TARDIS. Just thought maybe it burns. Though, you didn’t feel anything at all, yeah?”

He frowns, but before he can respond, they reach the door to the media room and it opens with a shhhk at their approach. He gestures for her to enter before him, and then he follows her. Blimey, Donna had left it in such a state. His hearts seize in his chest, and he stops.

There’s a mug of cold tea on the end table, a bowl of half-eaten, stale popcorn on the sofa, and an Agatha Christie book lying next to it, opened and page-side down. Donna’s favourite hand-knit blanket is strewn across the cushions, and he’s sure if he opens the media centre programme, it’ll be set to whatever she last watched. He stands there, hands deep in his pockets, as he tries to shake off visions of the anguished look on Donna’s face when he removed her memories. It’s no use. They’re only replaced by something far worse: when she saw him as a stranger.

Rose sits the sofa and props her feet up on the ottoman. She tries to pull the blanket over her body, but fails with a sharp swear. It takes her a few tries, but she manages to grip it and yank it over herself. She smiles proudly at the successful result.

He doesn’t return the smile, though. He probably should, because Rose has always had a razor focus on the subtleties of his mood. She spies the mug, popcorn, and the book, and her cheerfulness falters.

“Haven’t been here in a while. Since Donna…” he swallows the rest, and moves to the media center. He turns it on, keeping his back to her. There’s nothing about the outcome with Donna that would lend itself to any form of reassurance on her part, and he’s not in the mood to have her feel sorry for him when he doesn’t deserve it.

As predicted, when the telly blinks to life it’s still on a cooking channel from the planet Faydir that Donna had been watching that day. He recalls her scandalized, yet hilarious reactions to the ingredients. But despite the memory of humour, his frown deepens.

He navigates to the programme he’d been watching with Rose all that time ago, not lost on the equally devastating memories that it conjures. Once he queues up the last episode, he removes his suit jacket and tosses it to the accent chair nearby. He rolls up his shirtsleeves, and scrubs a hand through his hair.

“That’s it then.”

When he turns around, Rose’s line of sight shifts up to his face rather abruptly. He lifts an eyebrow as a blush spreads across her cheeks.

“So, ah,” she touches her face nervously, and plays with her hair. “Why is it that I can sit on sofas and hold a pillow, but it takes a lot of effort to pick up anything up? That’s weird, yeah?” She gives him a sheepish smile, bottom lip tucked under her teeth.

“Erm, I dunno. Maybe it’s ‘cause being part Rose, you’re programmed to be a bit of a layabout.”

Rose’s mouth drops open and she scoffs. She reaches for the bowl of stale popcorn. “Keep it up. I need to practice my aim.”

He gives her a proper grin, and a little giggle escapes from the back of his throat.

“Shut up.” Her mouth twists as she tries not to laugh along with him.

It feels somewhat like before, with the wayward glances and playful banter. He can even feel himself relax into it, and it’s a bit like taking off his shoes at the end of a long day of running. He sits down on the far end of the sofa and picks up a book from his to-read pile as the opening credits play.

“Gonna give me a proper answer?”

He looks at her before he slides his specs into place on his nose. “Oh, sorry.” He pauses the episode. “It appears to just be part of the programme, and anything else is going to take work. You’re projected, so no doubt the projection sensors acknowledge your environment and your, ah… image compensates for it. The sensors operate separately from your cerebral cortex, so they don’t necessarily function based on the intentions that’re in your mind. That’s where your human side comes in.”

“My projection sensors and cerebral cortex, eh? You sure do know how to make a girl feel special.”

“I know.” He waggles his eyebrows and then scrunches up his face. “Wait—er, I didn’t mean—gah!”

She’s giggling, and he shakes his head in defeat.

“So, I have a brain?”

“Yeah! Imagine that.”

“Oi! Stop it, will you?” She swats at him playfully.

He grins and holds his hands up. “Sorry, sorry. That one was too easy, you have to admit.” Twisting towards her, he rests the ankle of one leg on the knee of his other and drapes his arm on the back of the sofa, gesturing mildly with his hands as he explains. “The brain works on an intricate system of electrical impulses. A highly advanced piece of technology like the Moment would be capable of capturing that system from Rose and translating it into part of its programme.”

She looks away from him, all humour in her face fleeing in an instant. “Right.” She begins picking at the knitting of the blanket, and eventually she’s able to get it between her fingers.

He tugs on his ear, puzzled at how she brushes off direct, albeit affectionate, insults, but appears hurt by his innocent explanation. “Did I—”

“S’nothing.” She shrugs a shoulder and shakes her head.

“Tell me.”

She doesn’t reply at first, just takes a shaky breath and rolls her eyes.

“Please?”

“You’re never gonna see me for who I am, are you? Artificial intelligence. That’s what you were gonna call me earlier. And you said I calibrate, and I’m a programme and—it’s just—it hurts, okay? I didn’t ask to become this. Yeah, the other me touched that stupid box, but I didn’t, and now I’m split in two forever.”

“Rose, I—”

“Do you know what happens when I take off my clothes?” She laughs mirthlessly. “They disappear. Bet I can’t put on real clothes. But it’s convenient, yeah? I can just think myself into a raincoat and wellies if it’s pouring outside. Ain’t that the life?” She looks up, her eyes filling with tears, but they dry as she stares at the ceiling. Her mouth pinches together to keep her lip from trembling.

“I’m so sorry, Rose. So, so sorry.” He reaches for her, but withdraws and takes a measured breath. She doesn’t seem to notice. “No, it’s not fair and I know you didn’t ask for this.”

Tears return to her eyes. She blinks one away, and he scoots a little closer to her as if that could begin to make up for not being able to wipe her tears away with his own hands.

“Please don’t forget all the times I acknowledged you _are_ real. How many times I said you’re mending or healing or need to rest. I distinctly remember stopping myself from saying you’re calibrating or artificial. Still. I don’t blame you for feeling that way, or not noticing. Not at all. You have every right to question me, but you can’t make the digital part of you go away if you pretend it isn’t there.”

She’s finally looking at him again, and though she seems hurt, there’s also a good deal of admiration in her eyes. He continues, his voice laden with sincerity.

“I’m here for you; I’ll take the blame for all of it. I’ll help you figure things out, Rose. You’re not going to be in this alone, all right? You made me better, and I’ll do the same for you.”

Her wounded expression dissolves further, and she nods a little.

“There are many things we don’t know about how you function—sorry, felt it was better than operate.” He pauses, but she waves her hand.

“S’okay.”

 “And I know that not knowing has to feel like you’re so very lost. But If I don’t know an answer, I’ll do everything in my power to find it out.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, her hands twisting in her lap.

“It’s my honour, Rose.”

She bites her lip and laughs a little. “Stop it.”

He can’t help but feel a swell of pride at the blush in her cheeks. “Too mushy?

She pinches the air, leaving a couple centimeters of space between her fingers, and her smile deepens for a moment.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Won’t happen again.”

“Ta.” She laughs. “So, uh, how is it I can feel things, then? I’m touching this blanket, and it feels like yarn. When I touched you, it felt—”

He clears his throat. “Sensorial memory. Genius, really. Maybe we should get back to watching? You need rest.” He unpauses the episode and cringes inwardly at his abrupt reaction. If he notices it, she has to.

“I’m resting! But, fine.” She sighs and glances at the telly to watch for a moment, a line forming between her brows. They don’t get very far in before she speaks up again.

“You said it didn’t feel like anything when I touched you, though. Doesn’t make sense for a hologram to be able to feel but not be felt, since we’re not even supposed to be alive. Not too genius if you ask me.”

“Well, ah, I never, ehm…,” his words trail off. There’s no way she’ll be able to rest if she keeps getting upset.

“You never what?” Rose prompts, shifting so she’s angled towards him.

 “Er… well, on Gallifrey, holograms were meant to be alive. The consciousness of a deceased loved one could be uploaded and projected as a hologram forever, if they wanted. Or they could stay in a sort of supercomputer as part of a collective mind that could be accessed when needed. Take your pick. So, it’s not surprising that you’re able to feel yarn.”

Rose twists her earring. “Interesting, but that’s not what you were gonna say. You never what, Doctor?”

“Look, you need to rest, we can talk about this stuff another time.”

“Is it that bad?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I never said you couldn’t be felt. Your mental shields just need to do a lot of strengthening.”

“Oh.” She touches her forehead with her fingertips as her brow furrows in confusion. “But, what’s that got to do with touching? Do you hear my thoughts? You’re not making any sense.”

“No, no. Only if… you see, I’m a touch telepath, remember? When you touch me, I can see inside of your mind and I shouldn’t be able to so easily.”

“Ah. So you read my thoughts, but you can’t feel me.”

“I can. I never said I didn’t feel you, all right? I just don’t want to. That’s it. End of story, can we please watch now?”

Her lips part; she’s taken aback. The hurt in her eyes make his hearts sink. She tears her eyes away from him and glares at the television, her face hardening as her mind unpacks what he said. The Doctor’s gaze falls to her visual glitches, and they’re glowing slightly, still not mending like they should. He looks down and swallows as he unpacks what _he_ said. _Oh, bugger…_

“Rose, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut it. ‘M watching.”

They fall silent as they’re drawn into the show, and the Doctor returns to his book. After a while, he smiles a little, remembering the time she got cross with him for not paying attention to the episode because he’d been simultaneously reading a book about Arjulian theoretical physics. She’d been quite impressed that he could read such a tome whilst giving the television his equal rapt attention, in addition to at least twelve other complicated contemplations. He misses that time so much. Back before he lost her; back when they were like two ends of a circuit coming together at last, lighting up the universe everywhere they went. He wants to be that with her again, and closes his eyes to push away the warnings and doubts that threaten to diffuse his present contentment.

“What do I feel like?” There’s a pause. “You—you don’t have to tell me, o’course.”

Her voice is meek, stirring him from every mental task. He looks down at his hand as he responds.

“Like you always felt. Soft, very warm. Quite nice, actually.” As the words make their way out of him, his hearts speed up and his skin tingles. He turns his hand over, inspecting his palms as a thought enters his mind. He marks his place in the book and sets it aside, then turns to her.

Their eyes meet and the ghost of a smile touches her lips. He drops his gaze and notices that the visual glitches have mostly gone away, save for a few semi-translucent patches on her arm. After pausing the episode, he leans over towards her to examine her arm closely. He’s reaching for her even as he reminds himself that he shouldn’t, but he stops just shy of making contact.

“May I?” Oh, it’s so hypocritical of him, and she must feel so confused. Maybe as confused as he feels. Does she need to feel his touch as much as he needs to feel hers? He swallows thickly.

“Er, I have an idea.”

She twists her earring, uncertainty playing on her features. “Sure you want to touch me? You said--”

“I know. I want to try again, so hear me out. When I said I didn’t want to feel you, I just meant that it’s… it’s too much. Everything you are just pours into me, and it’s like having you inside of my own mind, our thoughts and feelings merged. It’s not something that should happen without consent, or without protection—er—mental shields in place. So you can allow or disallow however much of yourself merges with me. In this form, it would seem that you have very powerful telepathic capabilities, but, like the other things it’ll take some time and practice to control them better.”

She nods, turning to him fully as her hand drops from her earring. Her expression is softer, more open, and he breathes a sigh of relief as she extends her arm towards him.

“You had me at respecting my basic human decency.” She smiles.

He grins and reaches towards her arm, but hesitates and looks up into her eyes. “If I pull away, please don’t take it personally.”

“Promise I won’t.”

He closes his eyes, focusing to extend his mental shields, and reaches out to touch her arm. Her thoughts and feelings vibrate under her skin, beyond the membrane of his psyche just out of his reach, and it sooths him how the resonance is no different from what he felt whenever he touched the human Rose. It’s not too easy, though, to keep his shields extended for so long. He can feel her pressing against his mind, like a rush of water pounding against a feeble dam. It’s times like this he wishes he’d paid more attention at the academy.

As the seconds tick by, his guard slips and he wants to let her rush in, to feel her wash through his mind and fill every corner. She’s so warm and so inviting, and he’s been empty for so long. He trembles as he stops breathing, and the sensation of his respiratory bypass kicking in is what snaps him out of it. He releases her arm and his eyes fly open.

Rose reaches for him, face drawn with worry. “Doctor, are you—“

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Sorry,” he breathes, and he fumbles for his suit jacket, shifting his focus away from her to ground himself. He pulls out his sonic and turns back to her after a deep breath. “I think I should try the healing frequency one more time.”

She swallows and looks down at her forearm, at the faint glitches that still mar her skin, and nods.

He doesn’t touch her this time as he sweeps the sonic over her arm, its trill warbling a little as it hits her wound.

“Did you figure anything out whilst I was gone?” Her voice is soft and inquisitive.

“Well, yes, actually. Sorry, I’ve been so consumed with making sure you’re all right.” He gives her a guilty look.

She smiles, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. It makes him smile in response, and he reaches behind himself without looking to set the sonic down on his side table. The wound on her arm fades even further, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Rose adjusts her position on the sofa, turning towards him with her leg folded beneath her. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Oh, right. Erm… well, it turns out that there are no reapers. Doesn’t look like there’ll be any at all. No evidence of activity of that kind whatsoever.”

She claps her hands together, her grin broadening. “That’s good, yeah?”

“Yes.” He winces a little and sucks through his teeth. “I mean, it’s definitely unusual. The other possibility I looked into was whether this is a bubble universe. So far that’s inconclusive.”

“What does that mean? It exists only as long as we do?”

“Depends, but I don’t think that’s what happened. I think… I think we fixed a paradox.”

“What…? Fixed one? S’a drastic theory change, innit?”

He rubs his eye and rakes his fingers through his hair, avoiding eye contact with her. “I destroyed Gallifrey. I did it, I remember doing it. I never _didn’t_ do it. But… but we—my future self and I—went back in time and prevented an earlier version of myself from doing it, which meant the Moment never exploded. But you see, it needed to. I think that’s why she did it in the first place. Why she wanted Rose to touch her. She needed to explode, too many civilisations were affected by it exploding, and by not destroying Gallifrey and putting it into a pocket universe loose ends were flapping around everywhere. The Moment needed to explode and become that star.”

“Shouldn’t fixing a paradox mean you prevent it from happening, though? Doesn’t sound like a fix to me.”

“The same energy was involved, and that energy needed to be put back into the timeline to balance things out.”

“I see, so, not a direct repair but a…”

“Detour?”

“Yeah.”

“Think I wanna have that kip now.”

Rose scoots even closer to him and puts a pillow against his shoulder. She also wedges the blanket along his side, forming an unfortunate barrier between them.

“What are—”

“Gonna do it here if that’s all right with you? Like we used to.”

That’s not a good idea. So not a good idea, but it’s also the best idea she’s had all day. Would it be possible to resist the temptation to drape his arm around her, or rest his cheek against the top of her head? Like he used to. He nods warily, lifting his arm to rest it along the back of the sofa.

“I won’t touch. Promise,” she says, as she settles at his side and rests her head on the pillow. “All right?”

“Yeah,” he says on a sigh. He rewinds the episode for her, and they fall silent as they resume their watch.

He looks down at the crown of her head and imagines pressing a kiss there like he would’ve done before. Her hand rests on a bit of the blanket that drapes over his stomach, and he squeezes his eyes shut.  Before he does something foolish, like curl a finger through the strand of hair that’s looping on her shoulder, he grabs his book and pries it open to read. But very little reading actually happens, as his eyes trip over the same page over and over again, his attention returning to the feel of her resting against him like years and universes hadn’t at once kept them apart. 

Rose sighs contentedly, and part of him knows she’s feeling the same.


	6. Bird in a Cage

Rose lifts her head from the Doctor’s shoulder as the programme’s series finale ends. Her body’s warm and relaxed; her mind’s at ease. She stretches, and  _blimey_ it feels good. The urge to yawn arises deep in her chest, but it doesn’t come. She tries again. Panic flares; she can’t breathe. She tries to push the pillow away, but her hand passes through.

_Oh. Right._

Resting here with him, letting her mind zone out, had lulled her into forgetting she wasn’t fully human anymore. That there’d even been no white wall or cold, northern beaches. She tries to bring that blissful unawareness back by focusing on the Doctor’s fingers flipping the pages of his book, and his slow, even breathing. It’s no use.

His leg moves when he shifts, and his thigh brushes against hers through the blanket. All of her senses cloud over again. She bites her lip and looks over at the Doctor, who still had his nose buried in a book, tongue pressing against his top teeth as he focused on the last few pages. God, she almost forgot how swiftly irritation can turn into desire, especially with him around.

“Think I still need sleep?”

“Hang on,” he says.

He puts the book down on the accent table and sits up straighter as he glances at her. His mouth parts as his eyes roam her face. After a moment, he shakes his head and blinks, removing his glasses.

“Ah, I dunno. It’s possible, as you’re part human. Are you sleepy? Well over a twenty-four hour cycle has passed since, er… and you’ve been through a lot since.”

“I think so. I feel run down, but I can’t yawn.” She looks down at herself. Her forearms are free of any trace she’d been damaged. “I look normal again at least.”

The Doctor sits forward, and his hand is barely an inch from hers. He’s so close that his freckles catch her attention, and she follows them across his cheekbones and down the bridge of his nose. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes settle on his bottom lip. A warm, tingling feeling swirls inside, settling lower and lower, and she knows it’s arousal, but it’s really so much more than that. It’s human. It’s how she felt when she’d look at him before. It’s _everything_.

“Then it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

The sound of his voice snaps her gaze up to meet his. “Y-yeah?”

He tilts his head, eyes dark with an edge of mirth. “Well. You’d have fallen asleep halfway into our marathon before, so it’s possible you just need less of it.” He flashes a grin. “Imagine that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop.”

“Come on. I’ll walk you to your room, and you can give it a go.”

He stands, shedding the blanket and pillow, and reaches out to take her hand. Before she can even think to reach for it, he quickly withdraws it and rakes his fingers awkwardly through his hair instead, averting his eyes.

Rose stands on her own with a smile. Just knowing he would’ve, that he finds it just as difficult to resist, makes her heart skip a beat.

“I’d like that.”

They head for Rose’s room, walking side-by-side, animatedly discussing the series they’d just watched. When they reach her door, Rose leans back against the threshold and he stands well within her personal space just like he used to. Her heart flutters and her cheeks grow warm. She says something that makes him laugh. A big, loud ‘HA!’ and she’s officially lost count of how many times she can fall in love with this man in one day.

A couple strands of the Doctor’s hair bounces as he carries on, gesturing emphatically, about what he’d have done differently were he aboard the Serenity. Rose laughs in all the right places, and is quick to tease or encourage him about some of his ideas, and they settle into this dance that’s so much like how it was before. Flirty and brimming with joy, like they’re the only two people in the universe.

When he teases her about how much she wants Mal and Inara to get together, she smiles widely at him, her tongue grazing an incisor as she points out that he wants it too. Maybe more than she does. His eyes drift over her features and settle on her mouth, and she lifts her chin, angling… for what? She’s not sure. No, that’s not it. She’s very sure, in fact, she’s so aware of what she wants that her heart, her body aches with it. She swallows and tilts her chin back down, not meaning to entice whilst knowing he couldn’t kiss her. If he wanted to—and that was what she was unsure of.

Her back arches slightly against the frame of her door, but she isn’t aware of it so much until his eyes drop to her clavicle and drift lower ever so briefly before rising back up along the curve of her neck. The warmth in her cheeks spreads down, across her chest, and she wonders what’s on his mind as her tongue glides across her bottom lip.

They’d have moments like this before, too. A few seconds spent hanging by a thin thread over an open flame, but he’d always—yes. There he goes. He’s walking away, rather abruptly, towards the console room. Not even a goodnight, which he would’ve said before, and that’s what stings. Her heart sinks and she lets out a sharp exhale, not even hiding her frustration from his superior Time Lord hearing. Of course, she doesn’t blame him, not exactly. She can’t help but wonder, though, would he have left if he could touch her?

She stalks into her room the door closes behind her. A shower would feel gorgeous right about now, but why bother? Although, if she can feel yarn and cool countertops, maybe she can feel the water against her skin. Yeah, that’s all she needs right now to help her feel like a normal human being. As she walks to the en suite, her clothes quite unexpectedly vanish from her body, and she can’t help but laugh at how convenient that’d be for things she’s not sure would ever happen. Even if he could touch her. That was always the case with the Doctor though, wasn’t it? Her laughter transforms into a broken groan as she turns on the shower, the emotions she’d been suppressing all day hitting her like a fist in the gut. She’d found the Doctor, but at what cost? They’d been close before. The best of friends, and she’d blurted out that she loves him on that beach. She’s sure he was going to admit the same before he vanished into thin air, and now, as she steps into the pelting hot water, she desperately wants to ask him what he was going to say. He loves her in his own sort of way, but what if it’s changed?

Tears sting her eyes, but she doesn’t wipe them away. The water sparks off of her, and she watches it with detached interest as it slows while passing through her skin. Her entire body is alight as her image interacts with the moisture. It doesn’t really get her wet, but eventually it does seem to bounce off of her—mostly, anyway. It still feels like she’s getting wet, and she pretends that’s all that matters for now.

But then something interesting happens. As she relaxes and breathes in the steam, water begins to bead up on her arms, and she brushes her hand along her skin, smearing it around. She looks down and watches as rivulets trail down between her breasts and along her torso. Drops form on the tip of her nose and chin to splash on the tiled shower floor, and a clump of damp hair hangs in her face where before it had remained dry. Instead of finding it reassuring, though, anxiety builds in her chest. Was it really happening, or was it part of the simulation? She hated not knowing, and it wasn’t enough to pretend anymore.

She turns off the water and reaches for a towel, but as she steps out of the shower, she’s dry again, her hair hanging loose and soft around her face.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

She stares at herself in the mirror, too sick of being a hologram to cry. She decides right then that she won’t. Ever again if she can help it. This is her life now, so no use in being a big baby about it anymore. Though, she does wish she at least looked like she remembered, with fuller cheeks and a healthy warmth to her skin. She’s not sure if she could ever get used to this hardened, hollowed appearance. Especially when she hadn’t even been the one to experience what made her that way.

She catches her scowling face in her reflection, and looks away. Before, she’d harboured a few insecurities about her physique. Her teeth, the boxy hips, and that damn tummy pouch when she leant over in particular. Photographs on the dresser show Rose with that softer figure, the one she’d felt insecure about before. There’s one of her with the Doctor when he wore leather, and how hadn’t she noticed before the way he looked at her back then?

Somewhere in between, she reckoned, is what she looked like on her first jump. A glance back in the mirror makes her do a double-take. She’s changed! Her cheeks aren’t as hollow, the circles under her eyes have faded, and her hair is a bit longer, too. Like it was in the other universe. She’d grown it out to the length it had been when she first met the Doctor as though it might invoke their reunion. Seems daft now, looking back. But she hadn’t been in a good place.

Now it gives her a good, happy feeling in her chest. She smiles and admires herself, turning to the side to see the gentle swell of her bum and a few little silver stretchmarks on her thighs. Yeah, she’s a bit softer, and her hair needs a trim, but she likes it. It makes her feel like herself again more than anything else has so far. This is who she was at the time the Moment took her memories, and this is who she wants to be.

“All right, you stupid programme. Let’s keep it this way, yeah?”

 

She feels the TARDIS breeze across her mind, and she smiles at the sensation. It’s like a hug from a friend who’s happy that she’s happy and it gives her hope that things will be all right.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

After a moment of quiet reflection, she heads to her closet to find something to wear. However, before she can reach the door knob, she’s a nighty and knickers have appeared on her body. She blows air through her lips and feels resigned to just let it go for the night. One step at a time.

 

The next few days pass without incident as they ease into some semblance of a routine. Rose finds that sleep is something she still very much needs to sustain her mental strength—though maybe not so much of it anymore. When she closes her eyes, she dreams about strange things like her childhood home inside of Pete’s mansion, or her mum in a pink track suit planting flowers in the kitchen, and then she wakes six hours later, her body in the same position as it was in when she fell asleep.

She meets the Doctor in the galley every morning as he takes his tea, and with each day that passes, she’s less bothered that she can’t have a cuppa with him. After, they head to the library so he can help her hone her abilities, and once finished, he heads off somewhere to tinker whilst she putters around the TARDIS, exploring and practicing on her own.

She masters teleportation first, as she was already well on her way with it. The second and third day she’s further perfected her telekinetic abilities, and finds that she’s limited to her own personal strength as a human. The Doctor is a patient and encouraging teacher, though he keeps a good physical distance from her. They round off their evenings in the media room, and just like that, it becomes a pattern that helps her feel, well, normal.

On the fourth day, the Doctor takes her to the library to help her rehabilitate with trickier tasks, like balancing and carrying irregular weights. After successfully hauling a stack of heavy books across the library and setting them on the table, she cheers and he cheers and she flings her arms around him in a celebratory hug, her entire body pressing to his.

It was a huge mistake. His hands splay open on her back and she hears his sharp gasp right at her ear.

Before she can pull away, he bows against her to press his face into her neck. His breath against her skin ignites every nerve in her body, or photon—but no. When he touches her, when his lips brush against where her neck meets her shoulder as he whispers her name, she’s flesh and blood and nerves. A breathy sigh escapes her and she digs her fingers into his back, letting him pull her in even tighter. He whimpers, and it’s a desperate, painful sound. His hands clutch at her waist and let go only to grasp her elsewhere, and oh, he’s touching her. She’d forgotten about her own clothes and how they’re still part of the hologram.

He lifts his head and stares at her, eyes darting between hers, searching for something—permission or forgiveness, possibly both. His face screws up in a strange mixture of bliss and agony as he presses his forehead to hers. She feels him there at her mind, begging to be let inside as though there’s a violent storm on his heels and her head is the only shelter in the entire universe. The feeble psychic barrier between them begins to erode and she can’t let him as much as she wants to. Not yet. Not like this, when he’s vulnerable because of her stupid inability to control her own telepathy. She gasps as she pulls back from him, her hands sliding along his sleeves to gently pry them from her body and it’s torturous to have so much space between them after his arms had been around her. She lets go of his sleeves and takes a step back.

He swallows hard as he comes to his senses. “Wha-what have I done?” He’s staring at her with wide eyes, brows angled in horror, chest heaving as he gasps for breath.

Rose takes a second to steady her body’s response to his touch. Her neck still tingles and the undertow of desire remains, collecting like a pool of warm honey low in her abdomen. Her voice trembles when she finds it to speak.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s my fault. I—I can’t—”

“I’m the one who hugged you! I should’ve remembered!”

“Rose…” He presses his hands against his face and turns away from her. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want…”

Her heart twists in her chest as she moves closer to him. “Doctor, I—”

His hands drop to his sides. “Something’s off. With me, I mean. Yes, you now have some telepathic abilities and you hadn’t before as human. But, I’m normally not this sensitive, Rose. This body has had two failed regenerations, and it must be deteriorating my telepathic shields.” When he turns back to her, his face is a mask of absolute calm, but his eyes are still dark and haunted. “I might need to spend some time in the Zero room.”

Rose nods, unsure of what to say. His words had cut, and she knows he’s not trying to hurt her, but she feels responsible, no matter what he says to dissuade her that it isn’t her fault. She looks down at her own arms, at the clothing that had appeared there that morning, and back up to him.

“Zero room. What’s that? That’s a sort of room without gravity or something?” She grips her sleeve absently, fingers clawing at the material. She hates that it feels real. It would be better if it felt like light, or anything else but fibres and cloth, so she wouldn’t continue to be betrayed by her own simulation.

He sniffs and jams his hands into his suit pockets. “Well, I can levitate there. It doesn’t exactly follow your typical laws of physics, but I need it to heal. So. I’ll be gone for a bit.”

“Okay.”

He begins to leave.

“Wait! Doctor?”

He stops at the door and glances at her over his shoulder.

“How long? What’ll I do?”

“Oh, as long as it takes.” He shrugs. “You’ll know. Unless. Well, I haven’t tried out the new Zero Room. Last one was ejected from the TARDIS, so. There’s bound to be something different about it. Maybe it’ll be a giant ball pit this time.” He scrunches up his face. “Although, it might be a bit distracting, which defeats the purpose.”

She smiles a little at that thought. “You’d be too busy playing in it to heal, yeah?”

“Oh, yes!” He matches her smile.

“I’ll keep practicing.”

He nods and his smile warms further. “Yes, good.”

And with that, he leaves, and the library becomes a looming, living thing, surrounding her with whispers from alien worlds and lost ages. She feels small and finite, which is comforting in that stargazing sort of way. Her pulse slows as she looks around at the shelves, some which stretch to the ceiling. There’s a large fireplace that’s always lit, and the flames billow with a phantom gust from the flume, drawing her attention its way. She’s transfixed by the flicker and crackle from the hearth as her mind replays the Doctor’s embrace over and over again.

The pile of books she carried is still sitting on the edge of the large, wooden desk at her side, and she runs her hand along the gentle bumps of their spines, like she ran her hand down his back. She can still feel him grasping at her waist, his fingernails biting through her pullover and sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She touches her neck where his face had been buried, could still feel the tingle of his voice vibrating against her skin. But even though he was clinging to her, whispering her name over the pulsepoint of her throat, it was only because he missed being connected to another person’s mind. Like he had been with his people—yeah. She’s sure that was it, and it could have hurt him! Shame sinks in like ice washing through her veins. How could she have been so careless?

She looks away from the fire and her eyes settle on the suit of armor standing near a shelf of medieval scrolls. Her head tilts and a whoosh of inspiration strikes, leaving no room for further self-pity. That’s it; she needs armor. Something to wear to protect him from accidentally touching her until they get her telepathy sorted. Oh, how simple! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? True, she’d only just now learnt the basics of telekinetics—but, blimey.

Rose closes her eyes and thinks of her room, this time with the intent to teleport. She’s just too eager to fuss with walking, and why not take advantage of it every now and again? When she appears there, she heads straight to her closet. There’s not much in there she finds appealing. Not that her tastes have changed drastically, but she’s not that person anymore. She’s done a lot of growing since she lived aboard the TARDIS, and isn’t so sure she still fancies hoodies and bejeweled denims. But she has to try this. She grabs a pair of dark trousers and a large, hot pink jumper and tosses them to the bed. She then rummages through the piles and finds a scarf and gloves, socks and trainers.

Facing the mirror, she envisions herself undressed, and the clothing simulation disappears from her body. (She leaves the bra and knickers, though, ‘cos they’re cute). With a deep breath, she turns to the bed and picks up the jumper and fumbles for the neck opening so she can slide it over her head. She slips her arms through the sleeves and it falls to her hips. Encouraged by how easy that was, she picks up the trousers and sits on the bed to slide them up her legs—they give her a bit of trouble as one trouser leg twists around itself, but she manages to pull them on after focusing more intently. She slips on the socks and trainers, and struggles with the laces, so she tosses them aside for flats. They look ridiculous with her socks, but she can’t take any risks.

She wraps the scarf around her neck and it bunches up just over her chin, then goes for the gloves. They give her a lot more trouble. Something about angling for the tiny finger-holes makes her feel at a loss. Frustrated, she looks at herself in the mirror again as she wiggles her still-bare fingers.

There’s a knock at her door that startles her. He can’t be finished already—hasn’t been that long. She rushes to answer and sure enough, he’s there, all sheepish and scratching the back of his neck.

“Hi, er… turns out I haven’t yet installed radiation filters in the new Zero Room. Can’t operate without it. Hard to come by though, now that… Well.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, then he snaps back to the present and squints at her. “Hang on, are you cold? That’s fascinating! You can feel temperature—oh we can have the TARDIS adjust the thermostat for your room—”

Rose laughs. “No, Doctor. I’m not, and yeah, I can feel temperature like I can feel everything else.”

“Then what’s with the scarf?” His eyes widen and he gasps. “No, I didn’t—did I?”

“Didn’t what?”

He looks around, as though there are other people he doesn’t want to hear what he’s about to say. He whispers.

“A hickey? I swear, I—“

“A _what_?”

She touches her scarf and then breaks out in a peal of laughter. She falls back on her bed and holds her stomach. “Oh, my god!”

He watches her, an eyebrow rising higher and higher by the second.

“Is it really that funny?”

“No! Oh, Doctor.”

She sits up, her face a bit sore from laughing. But it felt so good, and that was why it was hard to stop. She smiles at him, tongue poking out. “No, you didn’t. No hickey. Your mouth barely…” She swallows and licks her lips, the rest of her sentence an exhale.

He watches her from just inside the doorway, his eyes roaming over her body. It makes her blush, and she sits up to bite her nail.

“Those are real clothes,” he says, and of course that was why he’d been looking at her like that. _Deducting._

“Yeah, oh. I thought maybe it would help.” She stands and crosses the room to him. “’Cos I don’t think I can always—” She cuts herself off and takes a breath, steeling herself. “I just want it like before.”

The Doctor nods, his gaze holding hers.

“I was just trying to pull on my gloves.” She holds one up and demonstrates her struggle. “Could you, ah—”

“Here,” he says, and his voice is barely a whisper. He takes the glove and opens it for her and she carefully slides her hand in. They put on the other glove in silence, and when Rose looks back up to the Doctor, the dimples in his cheeks are pronounced from his frown and there’s a depth to his gaze, like he’s remembering something that troubles him. He hasn’t yet let go of her hand, and she assumes he’s just testing to make sure it works. And it’s odd, holding his hand without feeling his cool skin grow warm to her touch. Despite that, her heart swells at the sight of it—of his fingers curling around hers.

“S’funny, yeah? How does cloth block you from, um, from feeling my thoughts?”

The dark look passes, and he flicks his eyes down to their joined hands and back to her.

“Cloth isn’t a conductor for electrophysiology. It dampens it, and, well. You don’t have nerves per se, but every molecule inside of you transmits electrical impulses from your cortex.” His thumb brushes over the knit pattern on her glove. “I can feel it, but it isn’t visible to my mind. It’s still…”  He struggles to suppress a shiver. “Still there. Easier for me to block.”

“Is that why you wear so many layers?” When she looks up at him, he’s still staring at her. Warmth rises to her cheeks and she looks everywhere but at him.

“Partly. Although, humans as a whole are weak telepaths, so.” He sighs. “Rose, you shouldn’t have to do this.”

“S’all right. If it’ll help.”

“Come on. I need to pick up that part, and they’re bound to have something that’ll help you. Why don’t we pop out for a bit? Get some fresh air?”

“Yes! Don’t get me wrong, I love the TARDIS, but I missed the alien worlds bit.” She bites her bottom lip as she grins, excitement whirling through every inch of her body. “But, wait. Would that even be possible?”

“Only one way to find out. Come on!”

He smiles and grasps her hand, tugging her along with him out into the corridor. It’s like riding a bicycle, how they fall back into synch like this, and she knows as long as she has his hand in hers, she’s Rose and he’s the Doctor and they’re _together_. The grin he tosses at her over his shoulder, the way his eyes lock on hers before he turns to look ahead again is like a stamp on her heart making it official that he feels the same.

Rose laughs and squeezes his hand with all of her might as she runs along with him down the halls of the TARDIS to the console room. When he reaches the control panel, he never lets go of her hand as he skips around the controls (her stumbling, giggling, and trying to keep up). He’s entering coordinates, guiding the TARDIS into the time stream, and finally activates the landing sequence. Once they land, her hand still in his, they race to the door. He opens it after grabbing his coat, revealing a dark little grotto with glowing plants that light a pathway out to an underground lake.

“Ahh, good ol’ Resval’ek. Did you know most ships would pick up no signs of life on this planet and keep going? It’s a great privilege to have access to the civilizations here.” The Doctor surveys the area with a sweeping glance whilst she pushes the door shut behind them.

“We’re in a cave.”

“Er, yeah. Forgot to mention that this place is not just underground, it’s underwater.” He shrugs into his coat and she helps him find the other sleeve. “The only habitable region on this entire planet, in fact, but it’s renowned throughout this galaxy for its ultra-rare goods market.” He walks ahead a bit, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit cavern. “Should be a submersible lift down this walkway for offworlders.”

Rose follows him, her heart racing with each step further away from the TARDIS doors.

“Seems empty.”

“Don’t touch the water.”

“Why not?” She approaches the shore.

“Just-just don’t.”

“That bad, huh? Has it got creatures that’ll eat my fingers?” She stares into the still, dark water, imagining that there could be something giant looming right under the surface, staring back at her. She shivers.

His voice calls from around the corner. “Aha! Here it is. Rose?”

Rose backs away from the water and turns to head down the pathway to the sound of his voice, but before she can reach him, her surroundings flicker away. Quick as blinking, she’s back in the TARDIS console room, the central column dimming and brightening in recognition of her presence.

“What the—” Rose marches right back down the ramp and out of the TARDIS doors. She heads for the Doctor, but it happens again. She sighs as she’s bathed in the central column’s green glow.

Defeated, she trudges down the ramp to the exit and pushes open the door. The Doctor is standing there, head tilted.

“You’re tethered.”

Rose nods.

“Sorry. I’ll be back, just—do whatever.”

“I hate this.”

He puts his hand on her arm reassuringly. “I know. Lucky I’m in just the place to find something that might help with that, too.” He gestures over his shoulder with a tilt of his head.

Rose nods, brows furrowed. “Yeah, lucky.”

“I’ll see you later.”

She smiles at how his hand lingers on her arm. “Yeah.”

He winks and turns to walk away, his coat swaying behind him.

The closing of the TARDIS door echoes in her mind, like a resounding snap of a cage locking shut. She turns, cursing under her breath, and heads back to the inner corridors of the TARDIS, the tide of emotions—anger, fear, sorrow—lapping at her heels and threatening to pull her under again.

She hates the idea of him roaming the market alone, hands tucked in his pockets and unable to resist the call of adventure if it should come his way. Hates that she can’t be there to join him. What if there’s a secret enemy force, lurking amongst the commoners, waiting for the moment to strike and take over? A planet that goes through such lengths to protect their market of ultra-rare bits and bobs has to have an enemy somewhere in the stars. Why else would they hide? What if they’re hiding ‘cos they’re the ones up to no good, and innocent people are just milling about in the market, unsuspecting that they could come into harm’s way?

Danger and discovery excite her just as much as they excite him, and if she can’t—if she has to be trapped in this ship forever, she’s gonna—she’ll just—well, she’s not sure what she’d do. Certainly anything it takes to not let that happen. Maybe it’ll be a boring market filled with exactly the thing he needs and nothing else. Nothing interesting, nothing dangerous, so he’ll come straight back and help her figure out a solution, because she will not be a bird in a cage. Even if it is a particularly massive cage. Endless, even, as far as she knows.

Maybe she’ll do a bit of exploring on the TARDIS to pass the time, to get her mind off of that creeping reminder that things truly aren’t normal for her. Not anymore, or possibly ever again. She kicks at the bronze-coloured base of the corridor wall and it clangs loudly.

“Ow! Bloody hell!”

She stops a second as searing pain throbs in her toes. The lights dim and brighten and she worries her bottom lip. “Sorry, I, um… shouldn’t ‘ave done that.” The pain gradually fades and she wiggles her foot, thankful in some sense that she could feel the injury. “Won’t do it again, promise. You’re not hurt, are you?”

The TARDIS hums.

“’Kay. Still sorry, though.” She rubs the wall with her open hand, feeling the undulating vibrations under her gloved palm.

Right, where was she? There’s bound to be hundreds of rooms she hasn’t seen before. She decides to just go wherever the TARDIS will take her, and follows along a long series of turns and curves, passing not a single door on her way. She pulls off her gloves as she walks and shoves them in her back pockets to touch the coppery metal of the corridor walls and the bumpy texture of intermittent coral archways. The hum of the TARDIS fills her, and she relaxes.

Eventually she finds a door, and it opens for her as though sensing her arrival.

Her brows perk. “All right. Don’t mind if I do.”

She steps into the circular, dimly lit room, curiosity all but erasing her previous irritation. Large coral pylons stretch up like tree trunks from the floor to the domed ceiling above. A stage with a piano rises from the centre, and other musical instruments, some familiar, others alien, are arranged around the open space like an empty orchestra.

Shelves loop along the walls, whereupon other, smaller instruments are displayed. She wanders through until she reaches the stage. After climbing up, she sits at the piano stool and inspects the sheet music that’s spread out above the keys. It’s covered in strange markings, some kind of musical notation, probably, but it’s nothing like anything she’s seen on earth. Beside the piano is a wooden stand holding a smooth, glass sphere. Without thinking, she touches it.

Music swells from the sphere and fills the room with a lovely, albeit sudden, piano melody. She gasps, and then calms as the haunting, sweet tune makes her skin tingle. It’s odd, though. Like she’s sensing memories that aren’t hers. A disembodied nostalgia, or borrowed déjà vu.

The music broadens with accompanying strings that make her eyes prickle. It’s like wanderlust, and innocence, and bravery have come to life in the form of a song. Moved to roam the room, she hops down from the stage and makes her way down the rows of instruments to a shelf along one of the walls. It’s filled with dozens and dozens of similar spheres.

She studies the etched inscriptions that label each sphere, all written in Gallifreyan. She’s trying not to let her curiosity win out, really she is, but as she follows along the shelves, she notices they’re getting dustier. And yet, there’s one sitting on the very end that has fingerprints in the dust, and she just has to hear that one. That should do it—just the one and she’ll duck out like she’d never been there.

She reaches for the sphere just as the piano music shifts to a repetitive, ominous chord.


	7. Pocketful of Meteorites

The Doctor stuffs his procurements into his dimensional pocket, and wanders back through the main market cavern. Strings of blue lanterns overhead bathe everything in ethereal hues. Mushrooms glow by his feet to light the path through the market. It feels more like a dark dream than a real place, and his mood has shifted to match.

He passes by the rare trinkets and artefacts of long-extinct cultures from long-abandoned or destroyed planets. They represent people that still live on through their creations even millions of years after suns or comets or predator civilisations have decimated their homes. Objects from his own world are not amongst them, of course. The irony of it almost makes him laugh. At one point, Time Lords wanted to be the only beings in existence. 

The stands are more crowded than when he passed through earlier, though there’s still not much sound. A few conversations float across the cavern, echoing on the roughhewn ceiling above, but there’s no bustle. No laughter or song. He can’t help but imagine how much brighter this cavern would be if Rose was at his side. It makes him feel a little bit needy, and a little more anxious to get back to her.

Psychic reverb scratches across his mind from the many telepathic species within his sensitivity range, making him wince. Definitely something he never had problems with before. The quicker he gets back to the TARDIS, the better, so he picks up his pace. Up ahead lies the submersible lift, recognisable by the cluster of glowing plants that creep up its threshold.

But in his path there’s a kiosk that he’d overlooked on his way through. It hadn’t been in that spot before, and its shelves of assorted stones draw him in despite feeling in a hurry. The peddler, a green, bug-like humanoid not too different from the Malmooth of Malcassairo, entices him further with promises of stones so rare, so impossible, that he would be forever changed.

He stands over the push cart kiosk as the peddler withdraws velvet-lined trays brimming with stones. She takes a drag from her oxygen pipe and gives him a warm smile around her mandibles.

“Will you get one for your lady love?” She says, her voice lilting as she pushes forward a tray of sparkling stones roughly the size of walnuts. “That lot’s from the Derashkon galaxy, which, as you know, Time Lord, collapsed two billion years ago.”

He makes a face at her not-too-subtle (and regretfully accurate) implication that his people were to blame, though his stomach swoops when his mind rounds back to the phrasing of her first sentence.

“She’s not, er… _mine_.” He scratches the back of his neck as he studies the meteorite fragment in question.

“She will be yours with such a rare gift! Imagine her face when you tell her she’s holding a piece of a world that was once so renowned for their rituals of love that cultures across the universe tried to emulate them.”

His cheeks flare with warmth. “Er…Thank you, but I’ve decided—“

She waves a hand. “Not the romantic type I gather.”

“Ehm…” He gives a noncommittal whinge and pulls a face before turning to walk away.

“Ah! Perhaps you’d be more interested in a reminder of your homeworld?”

Her words slam into the back of his skull, making him bristle. He turns back to her, head cocked.

“Hang on, did you say _my_ homeworld?”

“I did.”

“That’s impossible.” His eyes narrow along with his patience.

She holds the pipe in her mandibles and reaches below the cart to withdraw a little satchel. With steady, three-fingered hands, she opens the drawstring and lets a few stones tumble out onto the countertop.

The stones are rusty orange with golden flecks. They have a smooth, pockmarked surface, evidence of being exposed to extreme temperatures and radiation—tell-tale signatures of planetary matter ejected into space from a cataclysmic explosion. Alone, this proves nothing. However, he feels their familiar resonance under his skin, and he sways with disorientation.

“Careful now.” She puts a hand out to help steady him.

“How do you have—you can’t possibly—” He covers his mouth with his hand, and his breathing nearly stops. “It’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible, Time Lord. Just watch.”

He glares at her, then at the stones. After exactly twenty-four seconds, the stones fade away before his eyes. There’s a strange shifting sensation in his mind, and he’s momentarily torn between determining the source and watching the empty space where the stones had been. After a few moments the stones blink back into existence.

“Curious, isn’t it? So, have you anything to trade for bits of the one and only Gallifrey—destroyed somewhere beyond the logic of time and space, and yet whole and hidden at the same time.”

His head whips up to look her in the eye. “I’m going to ask once, and you will answer me plainly. How did you get these?”

The vendor smiles, and though she attempts to maintain her sly edge, he can tell it’s slipping—her antennae position betrays a whisper of fear. He leans in, waiting.

A particularly sharp jab of psychic feedback rattles his mind and he flinches. This is ridiculous. He has to get back to his ship. But he can’t just let this woman hawk fragments of his planet like cheap baubles.

She takes a drag on her oxygen pipe, and sets it down. “They fell from a crack in space. Saw it with my own eyes, I did. I know what you’re thinking: there’s a paradox afoot. Gallifrey was destroyed!” Her antennae twitch. “Or was it? Maybe you tucked it into a little pocket to be forgotten about till you shake out the universe one day and it comes tumbling out to the stardust. But you should know, both things are true. Both things happened. Gallifrey is both destroyed and hidden away. Tell me, wouldn’t you like evidence of such a conundrum?”

The stones disappear and reappear again as if on cue.

“They fell from a crack…?” His tone is deliberately snappish, and can’t keep his lip from curling at the ridiculous image of them falling out of a literal crack in space whilst she putters by on her little ship. He shakes his head, the eerie wonder fading as his doubts creep in. “It’s preposterous. You sure there’s just oxygen in that pipe?” He waves his hand at the stones. “I have to give you credit for the disappearing illusion. That’s a nice touch.”

There’s another sharp tug of pressure in his mind, like a thread had just been pulled from his brain. “Gah!” He grabs his head, fingertips pressed into his scalp. When the throb subsides, he glares at her, nostrils flaring. “That was you! How dare you muck about in my head!”

The woman gapes at him, her mandibles spread wide. “Be silent!” she hisses, eyes darting around. “You’re not supposed to feel that!”

“You’re not supposed to _do_ that!” He sneers at her. “You don’t just go pilfer people’s minds for bargaining chips. I can have you reported.”

“No! No—please! It’s only surface skim, I promise! Your mind is very pliable, you should know. Strange for a Time Lord.”

He scowls more deeply. “I don’t care! And the state of my mind is of no concern to you.”

The peddler quivers, mandibles clicking in panic. He gestures to a market guard across the cavern and she begins to weave her way over.

“N-no! Please, they’ll have me executed and I— _Please_ just take the stones!” She stuffs the Gallifreyan meteorites into the satchel and shoves it his way.

He frowns at the satchel in her outstretched arms. “You’re just going to give them to me?”

“Anything you want, just don’t—”

“You’ll stick to traditional methods of wooing customers from now on, right? No more cheating.”  He shoves the satchel in his pocket. “ _Right_?”

She gasps for air, and pats around the kiosk for her oxygen pipe. When she finds it, she takes a long, shaky drag before she can speak again. “Y-yes. Promise!”

He leaves the kiosk feeling like the universe had been pulled out from under him, and never calls off the guard. Let it light a little more heat under the peddler’s feet for all he cares.

As he makes his way back to the TARDIS, he pulls open the drawstring of the satchel and takes out a stone. He walks with it in his hand, sliding the pad of his finger across its pockmarked surface. He can feel the subatomic vibrations of chemical elements against his skin, and there’s no doubt that they’re the genuine article—a tangible reminder that his memories aren’t false—somehow, some way. And just as that thought passes through his mind, the stone disappears in his hand.

He squeezes his hand into a fist, dull nails biting into his palm. When the stone reappears, it cuts into his flesh and his fist pops open as he hisses from the sharp stab. A jagged corner is stuck in his skin and he plucks it out with a wince. Tiny beads of blood bloom along the narrow slice. He shakes his hand and slides the stone back into his pocket with the rest as he reaches his ship.

He enters the TARDIS and pauses, tilting his head. Rose isn’t in the console room, which isn’t in itself alarming, but something seems off. His mind throbs and feels raw, exposed, like parts of his subconscious are leaking out to join the invisible particles of air. This is all too much; his telepathic deterioration has clearly increased.  He needs to heal before something detrimental happens, but he still has to install the part for the damn room to operate properly. He approaches the control panel, looking it over as he tries to puzzle out what was out of sorts.

Rose isn’t in her room; that much is certain. Usually he can pick up on that straight away. He closes his eyes, seeking her out telepathically. Every time he nears her presence in the map of his mind, the TARDIS hides her from him. He’s relieved that there’s nothing inherently menacing about Rose’s absence, but he can’t help but scowl at the notion that the TARDIS is in effect hiding her from him.

He gives the central column a glare as he guides the time ship into the vortex, sparing not a single second for flourish. Once in the time stream, he heads straight for the inner TARDIS corridors, his coat billowing behind him. He passes room after room, but he knows she’s not in any of them. The path ahead extends before his eyes, taking him in loops and dead ends. He growls through his clenched jaw as he reaches yet another door-filled, never-ending hall.

“Stop doing that!”

His words echo, pelting him with his own shrill voice. He races down the corridor, trainers squeaking against the metal floor. A warning hums in his mind, and he slows to a brisk walk, brows furrowed in anger. 

“All right, fine! I know now that this is your doing. Just show me where she is. _Please_.”

But the TARDIS still refuses. He growls again, reaching another turn and an endless hallway. He stops there, sighing in defeat. _You know I’m unwell._

The TARDIS materializes the door just ahead with an apologetic hum. He steps towards the door, muttering about the immaturity of ancient sentient ships, and his stomach lurches as he realizes exactly in which room Rose had been hiding.

She’s been listening to the music orbs, which wouldn’t normally be cause for alarm, although perhaps a bit embarrassing—yet in his current telepathically-compromised state, if he were to walk in whilst she’s listening to some of his darker compositions, the effect could be dangerous. He places his hand on the door and the TARDIS brushes another warning across his mind, urging him to wait.  He closes his eyes as he counts the seconds.

_…thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four…_

At last, the door opens on its own, and it’s silent inside of the room.

When he enters, he sees Rose sitting at the base of the music orb shelf with a sketchpad resting on her thighs. She looks up with a small gasp and pulls the sketchpad close to her chest.

He crosses the room and stands over her, his shadow falling across half of her face.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

His tone is harsh, even to his own ears, and he cringes. He can feel the weight of the stones in his pocket as though they were boulders, and the small slice in his palm stings. Little nuisances amplified by his agitated state of mind.

“I have, yeah.” She closes her sketchpad and rises to her feet. He can tell she’s instantly on edge as she squares her stance. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Went for a walk to find something to do, and this was the only place available.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“But—”

“You shouldn’t be here!”

“Excuse, Doctor? Suppose you’re gonna tell me where I should be, then, ‘cos you know best, right? I couldn’t go anywhere else!”

“In this instance, yeah. I do.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs as he gestures in a vague direction. “You should’ve stayed in the console room. I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Something happen out there? You’re acting a bit tetchy. You said I could do whatever. Why would the TARDIS take me here if I couldn’t be here? If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have come in here at all. I didn’t know what to do! You just winked like it was no big deal that I’m trapped in here while you go off and traipse around in the Cave of Wonders.”

“I do not traipse.” He withers at the notion. “Although I’ll commend you on the Aladdin reference.”

“I don’t care. You could’ve been doing the Electric Slide in the Alamo—“

“That, I’ve done.”

“—all I know is I was alone in here and you were alone out there and something could’ve happened! What if you needed me?” She grips her sketchpad with all of her might, making it bend. 

His chest constricts at the worry on her face and he feels instantly terrible. He bridges the distance between them with a long stride, his hands hovering at her shoulders, but she takes a step back and his hearts drop.  “Rose, it really wasn’t a big deal.”

She tuts and rolls her eyes.

He breathes out her name as he lowers his hands. “Really, listen to me. Please. There’s so much security, that market is as safe as houses. And anyway, you didn’t seem that upset. I was heading to the exact place I’d need to go to pick up parts to solve the problem. I mentioned that, didn’t I? I know I did. I don’t forget anything.” He taps his temple with his injured hand. “And I did! I found something.”

“Yeah? Well ain’t that convenient.” Rose’s face scrunches up and she glares at the floor. She looks back up at him after a beat and does a double take at his hand. “You’re hurt.”

He jams his hand back in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”

She narrows her eyes. “Like hell. What happened?”

“Rose it’s barely a centimetre. I cut it on a, er, scintillator crystal. Rare, those.” He hates the little white lie, but he doesn’t feel ready to discuss the stones yet. He attempts to steer the subject away from himself with a calmer voice.  “How many did you listen to?”

She looks back to the shelf, her eyes sweeping over the assortment of little orbs. And that was just the visible shelf—she thankfully seemed to not have realized that it could slide in either direction for days and she’d still not reach the end of his collection.

“Maybe ten all the way? They were long, and some of them were, um, some were scary.” Her eyes drop to her feet and then dart back up to meet his. “Figured out how to turn ‘em off. Some I listened to more than once. Why?”

“So, you only heard the music?”

“Yes. Got any Earth music here? You should really get an iPod. Seems a lot more convenient and wouldn’t take up a whole wall. I thought Time Lords were super advanced?” She grins, but it’s not her brightest.

The Doctor lifts an eyebrow and scoffs. “Store my hard work and unparalleled creative endeavours on a shoddy piece of Earth technology? I’d rather swim in Ulworm slime and smell like carrots for the rest of my life. Anyway, how could I possibly fit the entire four-dimensional experience of writing music and performing each instrument, along with every sensorial detail of what inspired me, into an iPod? Some of them took me decades to finish. Let me also point out, that many of the songs here aren’t mine. I’ve meticulously catalogued music from cultures all over the universe—many of them long extinct.”

Rose’s lips quirk. She shakes her head slightly, the sketchpad curling against her gently instead of creased at an angle from the pressure of her grip. The smirk shifts to a smile and she tilts her head. “That was you playing the music? I mean, I assumed you were on piano, but—blimey! You’re good! All those different instruments…”

“Oi!” He scratches the back of his neck and plucks a few strings on a nearby harp. “Don’t act so surprised! Just be glad they’re attuned to my psychic signature so music was all you heard.”

When he looks back to her she’s biting her nail through her glove, averting her eyes. Her mouth opens and then clicks shut, and then opens again to take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have; I was just curious, and-and I had to get my mind off of...” She looks down again and a curtain of hair falls in her face. “I didn’t realize—I mean the TARDIS led me here. Didn’t think she’d do that without your permission. The music really made me want to draw and the TARDIS gave me the things I needed.” She peered up at him. “Are you cross? S’just music—”

“I’m not—I told you it’s more than just music, Rose!” He paces, feeling more out of sorts as the seconds ticked by. “These are bits of experiences and people I’ve lost and entire planets I’ve explored. Some which were destroyed in the Time War.” He closes his eyes, his own planet hovering there in the graveyard of his mind. His hand drifts into his pocket again to feel the stones. “You couldn’t have known. You have _no idea_ what I’ve lost!”

She’s quiet for a while, until she fills the void with a sharp breath that vaguely sounds like, ‘Oh,’ and is heavy with shame. She shouldn’t feel guilty. She shouldn’t feel ashamed—she was trapped, like she said, and that clearly had upset her. She always wanders off, that shouldn’t surprise him.

His eyes fly open and he wants to take it all back. All the irritation and anger and flippant nonsense. Her lip trembles and the hurt in her eyes pierces his chest like an arrow.

“My mistake.” Her voice trembles with her attempt at keeping control over her emotions. “Should’ve known it was some kind of secret place where you keep your past hidden away. Have a lot of rooms like that here I bet.” She hugs the sketchpad against her chest, then she brushes past him to head for the door.

She reaches the door and it opens for her.

“Rose, wait—“

She turns back to him, a wary glance cast over her shoulder. “What?”

He exhales. “I’m sorry.”

Her expression softens a little, and she bites her lip. Something shifts in her eyes and her shoulders sag. “For what? This is your private room and I intruded. I’m sorry.”

 “You have nothing to be sorry about. Like you said, the TARDIS led you here. I was being a knob. I just mean—you couldn’t have known that’s what the music orbs mean to me. I haven’t told you.”

“No, I’m…” She takes a shaky breath and turns to him fully, shifting the sketchpad in her arms. “I’m sorry. Really. I don’t care about your past. I mean, I do, but it doesn’t make a difference, okay? I walked in here and, and I was curious—I, um, accidentally touched the one by the piano. Well, accidentally might not be the—anyway, and then I saw the rest. Should’ve waited for you. That was wrong of me.”

He nods and looks around as he slides his hands into his trouser pockets. “S’all right. Water under the bridge.”

“And you don’t have to take me with you everywhere. That’s not why I was upset.”

“Oh, Rose.” He looks her over, this woman who learnt how to put on real clothing so she wouldn’t harm him with her touch. “But what if I want to?”

She laughs. “I know you can take care of yourself. I just—I didn’t like feeling trapped. I missed you.”

Silence settles between them and his sights settle on her gloved hands, remembering why he went to the market in the first place.

“Rose—”

“So, you played all the instruments in those songs, yeah?”

“Er—mostly, yes.”

“Guess you have plenty of time to learn.” She grins.

“Something like that.” A sideways smile spread across his face. “You know, Rose, It’s only fair.” He nods at her sketchpad.

She groans. “Oh, bloody hell. Yeah, it is, innit?” Her cheeks turn red as she holds the sketchpad out in front of her. She gives it a look of warning, as though it might do something unexpectedly rude to embarrass her, and then offers it to him.

He reaches past it and takes her hand instead.  “First, we have to take care of something important.”

“Oh—okay.” Her eyelashes flutter as she looks from their linked hands up into his eyes. “You’re not still upset?”

“Oh, Rose. You should know better by now.” He smiles at her, warm and honest. His stomach swoops as she matches his smile, her eyes glittering in the dim lighting, and he can feel the muted hum of her energy in his hand, through the glove. “I think I know why the TARDIS brought you here, though.”

“Why?”

“Think she’s trying to force us to have a conversation.”

“About what?”

He shrugs and looks down at her hand. “Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with our artistic talents.”

Rose squeezes his hand. He has a powerful urge to envelop her in his arms and lose himself in her, tell her that he’ll let her listen to every song on that shelf whenever she feels like it. But he simply turns and tugs her with him down the corridor back towards his workshop, which, much to his relief, the TARDIS has moved right next door.

They step inside and the Doctor sets Rose’s sketchpad on a table by the entrance, then reluctantly releases her hand so he can remove the contents of his dimensional pockets onto his workbench. A full-sensorial-holographic-point-source for his sonic screwdriver—something the TARDIS will have to have a hand in upgrading while he’s in the Zero Room—and components for a telepathic waveform diffractor. He leaves the part for the Zero Room in his pocket; he’ll sort that one out later.

Rose drifts over to a relatively uncluttered area. He wonders what draws her to certain things and not others. He doesn’t ask, and just sets to gathering the tools and other things he needs from shelves and drawers around him. He lays his sonic on the centre workbench and fishes around for his loupes in the interstellar junk piled around the perimeter of his workspace. 

After sliding on his glasses and clipping the magnifying loupes in place, he gives Rose a glance to find her watching him with rapt interest. Particularly at his fingers. Her teeth tug at her bottom lip and her eyes darken, so he waves at her and she blinks, turning her head towards her shoulder to hide a little embarrassed smile.

The Doctor lifts an eyebrow, wondering what could possibly be so arousing about his fingers, and shrugs as he gets to work on his first project. He’s completely in his element doing this, and he’s so focused, that he scarcely realizes that Rose has come to join him. Her elbows rest on the workbench as she sits on a stool very close by. He catches the glint of the light in her hair and looks up to her, drawn to the shadow that paints the slope of her shoulder under the fall of her hair. He swallows and trains his sights up to meet hers and she’s staring at his fingers again, lips parted.

“All done with this,” he says, twirling his sonic and slipping it back into his pocket.

Rose tilts her head, resting her cheek in her hand. She looks up at him languidly, swaying closer.  “That was more important than seeing my drawings, hm?” She smiles, tongue poking between her teeth.

“Er…”

The Doctor’s eyes drop to her tongue, and it’s almost comical how he’s so far beyond caring that she’d been in his private music room. He wonders what she thought of it, imagines a thousand questions to ask and is sure her answers would stroke his ego into orbit. He pictures her mesmerized by him as he strums a guitar for her, or as his fingers glide over piano keys, and he doesn’t realize he’s been leaning closer to her the whole time.

“Doctor?”

He blinks and inhales reality to scatter his increasingly impure thoughts. What has come over him? Honestly. He pulls together the components he needs to create the telepathic…diffuser thingy. He can’t think of the last time he’s felt so addled. But then again, her lips are rather plump, and then there’s the adorable way her eyebrows quirk when she’s questioning him.

“Oh, um. Right! I just fitted the sonic with a holographic point-source. We’re close to you being able to go wherever I go outside of the TARDIS. Or, rather,” he makes a sheepish face, scratching the back of his neck. “Wherever the sonic goes.”

Rose smiles widely, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Yeah?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p.’ “Now, I’m going to create something that will help keep your telepathic impulses confined, so that any touch telepaths who happen to, er, touch you, won’t… um…” He shifts in his seat. “Now that I think about it. It’s probably good that you weren’t able to go with me earlier.”

Her smile slowly fades. “Oh.”

“Because there were several people there who were waveform telepaths. They could’ve read your every thought just by breathing the same air.” He sobers at the loss of her smile, and really, he should. This is serious business. Doesn’t mean he won’t try whatever it takes to bring it back. “But once I finish this, they won’t be able to. You’ll be more in control of your mind. You’ll be fit as a fiddle, and you won’t need those anymore.” He nods pointedly at her gloved hands. “At least that’s my theory.”

She nods, the smile returning. But it’s more of a thankful, relieved smile, than the flirtatious smile she beamed at him before. He compiles a list of ways to bring back that flirty one as he gets to work. Rose watches him for a little while, and then grows restless. She stands to wander around the workshop yet again, and he finds himself distracted every now and then by her curious little exclamations that she probably thinks he isn’t paying attention to.

When he finishes, he holds up his invention, inspecting it closely through the loupes clipped to his glasses. “Wear these at all times, and you’ll be right as rain.”

Rose joins him with smile, sliding onto the stool just around the corner of the workbench from his. “Oh! It’s… It’s a pair of earrings.”

“Yep! Brilliant, I thought.” He drops them into her open hand. “Convenient, inconspicuous, and cutting edge.” He watches her expression as she stares at the little studs of glimmering, iridescent meteorites set in platinum.

“They’re beautiful.” Her voice is a whisper of awe, and—is that? Yes it is. She’s blushing. Deeply at that.

“Put ‘em on, let’s give it a go.” He says, removing his glasses.

She removes her gloves first and works to remove her hoop earrings, then affixes the telepathic waveform diffractors (with feedback shields!) into the soft, little pad of her ears. When she looks back up to him, she gives him a hesitant smile.

“How um,” she swallows. “How do we test it?”

“Well…” He reaches for her hand and slides his fingertips along the centre of her palm. When he looks back up to her, her eyes are closed and she’s inhaling deeply. To his mind, it feels much like it felt when she wore the gloves. There’s still a current under her skin, something that pulls him to her from a place he’d always thought didn’t exist in himself, at least not for centuries, but it doesn’t drag him under.  Yet he can now feel her skin. Soft and warm, and as his palm fits flat against hers, her fingers curl around his hand reflexively.

“All right?” She gazes at their hands, lips parted.

“I’d say it works.” He swallows.

“Good.” Her voice is breathless and he can feel her pulse quicken under his touch. He brushes his fingertips along the vein of her wrist, marveling at how much the realism has improved since her inception. He wants to close his eyes and linger there, hanging onto that familiar little pulse with all of his might. Just before he loses himself, he releases her hand and reaches for the sketch pad nearby.

“So, er, about those drawings.”

She pulls her hand from the table, closing her fingers against her palm as she steadies her breath. “I’m, ah, I’m sure you’re loads better. Don’t laugh.” She points at him in mock accusation.

“Rose, tell me. Do you love to draw?”

She nods.

“Then it doesn’t matter if I’m better.” He slides his thumb under the sketchpad cover, ready to flip it open. He looks into her eyes first. “It’s not about being better than others. If that’s the only reason why you draw, then you probably shouldn’t.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“It is, because I’ve been doing it for centuries. I’m quite good.” He winks at her and lifts the cover to reveal her first sketch. It’s one of the instruments - a curved, wooden horn from a planet she’s never been. She’s captured its likeness beautifully.

“Why this one?” He glances up at her.

“It, um, it was close, and I like its shape. Sort of like a loopy trumpet. Does it sound like one?” Her voice is shaky and she keeps fiddling with her new earring, though he can’t help but notice her touch is softer, deliberate. None of the typical mindless twisting and pinching she normally inflicts on her other earrings. She also has a dreamy, subtle smile that lights her eyes and makes his hearts swell with longing to just—oh. She asked a question.

“It sounds more like a French horn crossed with a clarinet.”

“Yeah?”

He nods and flips the page to another instrument from various angles. It goes on like that for a few pages, rough sketches of instruments or architectural features of the music room. He makes comments of encouragement or asks questions about her technique, and offers feedback when she asks. Then Rose begins to fidget next to him before he unveils the next drawing. He hesitates and looks at her, hedging for her permission. She nods with pursed lips and closed eyes.

He flips the next page and is stunned to silence. She’s drawn his face, and it’s eerie to see how she sees him. Everything he considered a flaw—his asymmetrical eyes, his ear, his wrinkles, the blotchy freckle under his eye—she captured as though she found them inherently appealing. He glances to her and she’s hiding her face with her hand.

“God,” she says with a shaky laugh.

“You made me look better.” He smiles.

She parts her fingers and peers at him. “Stop.”

“It’s true. And you spent the most time on this one, I can tell.”

She bumps his shoulder with hers. “Oh, don’t be humble. You know you’re a fit bloke.”

He nods demurely and turns the page to find his old face staring back at him, the one just before this one. It takes him aback, and he swallows—she’s got that one down too and it unnerves him a bit to see how much detail she remembers. His chest aches—had she loved him then, too? He had certainly loved her.

Her every line was careful and deliberate. She wanted to get things just right, and she had. There’s part of himself that still wears leather and mourns with quiet rage, and that part takes over momentarily. He looks over at her to see her staring at it with tears in her eyes.

“You made me look better here, too,” he says softly.

She smiles a little and wipes her eyes.

“Rose…” he begins, turning to her more. “It’s not that I want to hide my past from you. It’s just not relevant, not usually. Imagine reincarnating and feeling properly like a different person each time—different clothing and food preferences and all—but you have all of these memories from your past lives still floating in your head, affecting you. I—I’m still me, but at the same time, I’m different. I have several hundred years of experiences in my head, and I don’t forget anything, but when I regenerate, I can sort of step away from them and carve a new life. Yet, sometimes it’s not that easy.”

His hearts race as he opens up to her, unsure how she’ll take it, if she’ll want to leave him and feel distressed because she can’t. She’s stuck here with him. Possibly forever, and he’s—she’s, how will she cope with forever? She’s lived her life with an ingrained perspective that she’ll live several more decades and that’ll be it, but now. Now she can know centuries of pain and loss and suffering, and that’s not something he would ever wish on her.

She’s quiet, too quiet, and panic slips through his nerves. He turns the page and it’s a landscape, but he’s too distracted by her lack of response to register.

“I could change again. I will. I told you I met my future self,” he looks over at her and she’s gazing at him intently. “I don’t think you’ll age or die in this form, Rose.” He catches the sketchpad trembling in his hands out of the corner of his eye and he grips it tightly to stop himself.  “So, er, you’re trapped in eternity, whether or not you can leave the TARDIS—and then your mother and little brother are in another universe. That can’t make you happy. I know how it feels to have someone you… Someone—” he looks away. “Someone you care about more than anything just ripped from your life.”

“I love you,” she says in a whisper. “I still do.”

It feels like his hearts have taken over his entire body. His pulse hammers just under his skin, louder than any instrument in his music room and she has to hear it. He knows she loves him. One look at his portraits tells him that. The rush of blood in his ears is overwhelming and then he remembers to breathe when he hears her voice again.

“It was the worst day of my life, losing you.” She has tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t look away from him this time. “You just faded away. The whole universe just faded away.”

He opens his mouth, but clicks it shut, remembering Bad Wolf Bay and facing the other him, the flesh and blood epitome of all he wished he could be for her. He’d said something then _. Does it need saying?_ It was a stupid, awful thing to say. It was manipulative: true whilst intentionally oblique to get the other Doctor to say the right thing for him. He works his jaw, knowing that wouldn’t be appropriate here. Far from it.

Of course he—there shouldn’t be any question. He fixates on a perspective flaw in her drawing, not feeling ready to respond in kind. Guilt drags his hearts down into his stomach. She’s Rose, he’s come to terms with that. But he had forced her hand by being evasive that day. Of course she chose the version of him who would say the words. But this situation is even more incomprehensible. She’s no longer fully human, and she didn’t choose this life, or so it seems. She’s not looking at him anymore and all he can see is the other her kissing the other him.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Her voice is raspy with emotion, and he knows how much she wants him to say something. How could she not? “I just wanted you to know that—that my feelings haven’t changed. I know things are strange and I’m—” She shakes her head and sighs. “I do miss my mum so much. But she has me still, yeah? There’s a version of me over there and my mum probably has no idea I exist.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looks up and they search each other’s eyes for a moment. She must see something that calms her, for she stops fidgeting, blinks the tears away, and reaches for her sketch pad. He hands it over and she flops it on a table behind them before turning back to him. She then reaches for his hand, holding it between hers as her eyes settle on his.

“I’ve seen you change. I can handle it. I chose this life with you, and it’s hard. It’s really, truly hard, but it’s the best life. It’s _everything_ to me.”

“New adventures to be had every day.” He says with a smile.

“Yeah.” She grins.

For a time, he simply gazes at her. She’s so close he can see himself reflected in her darkening eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing deepens. He glances to her lips and they part in invitation; there’s no mistake. The bit of his brain urging him on to the Zero Room goes ignored as he leans in and kisses her. She makes a sound, a quiet little gasp that trails off into a sweet, restrained moan. His eyes slam shut at the sound and he reaches up, hands hovering beside her face, so close but not touching. He can’t—he’s sure if he does, he wouldn’t want to stop, and he needs to heal. He needs more time.

She must notice, for she separates from him briefly so she can search his eyes, imploring him for more, for so much more, and she grasps the edge of his pinstriped jacket, clinging to it as she lifts in the stool to bring herself even closer. He nudges her nose with his, coaxing her to tilt her head, and closes the space with another kiss. This time it’s gentler. It’s exquisite, tender, and his fingers brush against her hair, barely touching. It’s maddening how much he wants to slide his hand through the strands that fall against her ear and brush the nape of her neck. Her lips are soft and warm. Her chest swells with every full breath. She’s so real and so vibrant, and soon enough he’s catching her top lip between his. She presses back, matching his vigor, and he knocks something off the workbench as he shifts on his stool. Whatever it was skitters to the ground with little metallic clinks, and their lips separate with a wet smack.

Rose pulls back from him again, and he stares at her, his hands lowering to grip hers. There’s worry in her eyes again, and his mind is so clouded, so hazy with euphoria, that he’s momentarily bewildered.

“Doctor, I can tell. I couldn’t before, but… I don’t know. I feel something.”

“Huh?” He closes his mouth and swallows.

“Your mind. I think—I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. You know how you can look at someone and tell they’re not feeling well? It’s like that, except I could feel it from your mind.”

“Oh. Yes, about that…” He clears his throat and stands up. “I’m probably losing some control over my, er, shields. I need to… I need to—“

“Go to that Zero Room place, yeah?”

“Yes, that.”

“All right then. Let’s get you there.”


	8. A Faint Fragrance of Roses

Rose holds the Doctor’s hand as he heads to the Zero Room. It’s not like before when holding his hand was like being two wings of the same bird, soaring ever higher. Wherever they went didn’t matter as long as they were together. This is different, but no less essential.

His palm presses to hers, and his fingers lace with her fingers in the white-knuckle way that makes her feel like an anchor keeping him from drifting off to sea. And that’s all right. If that’s what he needs her to be. She knows his guard is down - why else would he have kissed her like that? Snuffing the breath right out of her bones and making her want to collapse into a puddle. She licks her lips on reflex, tasting him on her tongue like little grains of sugar, keeping her suspended in that state of euphoria. It wasn’t the first time they’ve kissed (not that it was common before—anything but), but it was the first time since she… And it was more than just a kiss of gratitude or merriment. It was a proper snog full of passion and need, and he’d wanted more, whereas before there’d always been an edge of hesitation. A line he wouldn’t cross.

Taking a shaky breath, she glances up at him as they walk. He’s stoic and unwell. There’s a dimple in his cheek and his eyes look unfocused. Now clearly isn’t the best time, but more than anything, she wants to talk about it. The kiss. If it meant things were fitting back into place, like before they lost each other. At the very least, it was acceptance.

She hopes his silence doesn’t mean regret.

They reach their destination, and the Doctor keeps his hand firmly in hers as they cross the room. It’s white, almost blinding, with only the soft shadows of the curves in the walls and the platform in the middle to offset the glare. She inhales the faint fragrance of roses and opens her mouth to ask about it, but he heads her off.

“There should be a panel here. It’s different every bloody time—aha!” He feels along the wall and presses just so, and an area the size of a large-screen telly lights up in midair before him. The transparent viewscreen is alive with mathematically intricate circles and lines. They move around in a fluid pattern, elements rotating or ticking like the second hand of a clock. The Doctor watches it, his head moving subtly as he reads.

She assumes he’s interacting with it with his mind and unconsciously rubs her thumb along his as she watches him. He squeezes her hand, but doesn’t look away. It makes her heart skip a beat anyway.

At last, a panel opens in the wall, revealing the circuitry and other mechanical guts within. She expects him to let go so he can work with both of his hands, but he doesn’t. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand and pulls out a cylinder-shaped object that he offers to her.

“Hold this a moment, please. Don’t drop it.”

“Yeah.”

She loosens her grip on his hand to take the cylinder and his hand clenches around hers to keep her from letting go. They’ve never done this—held hands for quite so long whilst he works. When she looks up at him, his eyes are tender, though pleading. Right, she’s the anchor keeping him from drifting out to sea.

She takes the cylinder, inspecting it curiously. It doesn’t look very special. Looks like a pipe, like something he could pick up anywhere. He reaches into the open panel and a series of clicks draws her attention back to his work in time to see what she’d thought were just intertwined metal bars, turn into a crystalline substance and recede back into the central metal pipe-like object.

“Oh, wow,” she whispers, leaning against his arm as she peers more closely. “Here I thought you went to a super-secret market to buy a lead pipe.”

“Birluzedian radiation filter.” The Doctor grins at her, like he’s the one who invented it. He pulls out the spent filter and shoves it into his pocket to deal with later, and then holds out his hand for the new one. “Things aren’t always what they seem, as you should know.”

She places the cylinder in his hand and pushes against him with her shoulder, just a playful little nudge. “Like your head being bigger on the inside?”

He giggles and affixes the cylinder into the spot where the other had been. “Actually…”

Rose laughs. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“What? That my head really is bigger on the inside? S’true, ta.” He sniffs.

“Guess so. Have to fit that massive ego somewhere.” She gives him an open-mouthed grin, taunting him.

“Oi! Watch this.” His eyebrows waggle, so sure he’s about to impress her that she just might let him. She watches him, eyes lingering on the way he squints at the cylinder to turn it just the way it needs to fit, his tongue pressing against the back of his top teeth. He lifts his hand, the one still clutching hers, to flip out a bit of the metal along the bottom rim with his thumb.

As their clasped hands drop back between them, he twists the cylinder into place, and it begins to glow. Little stems of crystal sprout from its surface and spread out like roots, connecting to the inner workings of the panel. They spark as they connect, and soon there’s a multitude of tiny bursts of light, like stars twinkling in the night sky. The lightshow gradually comes to an end, and the crystal structures cool and turn to metal.

Rose looks up to the Doctor and rubs his arm with her free hand, memories of grasping at his coat as he kissed her flitting across her mind. She takes a breath.  _Focus_.

“That was beautiful, but you know what?”

“What?” He closes the panel and looks back toward the display on the wall.

“You’ve shown me better.” She smiles up at him, resting her chin on his shoulder.  “Woman Wept, the gardens of Peruli, the entire lifecycle of a star…”

He smiles, but it’s not as brilliant as it could be. His eyes search hers for a moment, smile fading, but his expression remains tender.

“I still have so much more to show you.”

“I wanna see it all.” She feels him squeeze her hand. “Come on, then. How does this room work? Do you have to lie on that thing?” She separates from him and walks over to the platform in the centre of the room.

The Doctor clears his throat and blinks. “Er, yes and no.”

She glances back at him, eyebrow lifted. His hand opens and closes, then he turns to finish interfacing with the display and joins her. “I’m going to lie there and then I’ll lift up and hover. Rose, I’m not sure how long I’ll be in here. Could be hours. Could be weeks.”

“S’fine. I’ll keep practicing things.”

“Could be years.”

“…Oh?”

Dread slips in and tangles up in her spine. It’s not that she wouldn’t wait years for him. She absolutely would. But she couldn’t wait passively. She couldn’t just drift around on the TARDIS like a ghost with no one to talk to and nothing much to do. Not to mention, she needs to hear his voice, feel his touch, see his stupid, pretty face as much as possible now that she found her way back to him. The agony of years spent apart after the battle of Canary Wharf slams into her and she clenches her fists. That had been a kind of hell she never wanted to experience again. She looks down, afraid that he’ll see her trepidation.

“Yeah.” He swallows and reaches for his sonic screwdriver. “So. I’m giving you this. Take it to the control room—there’s a toggle near the viewscreen, to the left. Flip it, and a receptacle will open. Slide the sonic into the receptacle, blue side up, and you’ll feel it click into place. Flip the toggle again, and it’ll close.”

“O-okay.” She takes the sonic as he places it gently into her hand. Her eyes flick up to meet his. “How come?”

“The change I made so you could go outside with me. The TARDIS will detect the change, finish making modifications to the software, and yada-yada.” He didn’t look at her, just ran his hand along the smooth white platform before them. “You’ll hear a chime when it’s done. Shouldn’t take too long. Few minutes tops. When it’s finished, just hold on to it. Keep it safe for me ‘till I wake.”

Rose nods. “Years, huh?”

He breaks into a manic grin, eyes finally meeting hers. “Nah, that’s incredibly unlikely.” His grin drops, and his brow furrows. “Although, not impossible.” His head tilts. “Still, unlikely. Very, very, very, very unlikely. Probably triple that amount of very unlikely.”

“Oi, I’ll try not to eat all the ice cream.” She rolls her eyes and smiles, hanging onto the ‘ _incredibly unlikely_ ’ and pretending that the ‘ _not impossible’_  had no power over her.

He scrunches up his face and rubs the back of his neck. “But you, you can’t, er…”

“Yeah, I know. Go on, take your kip. How will I know when you’re up?”

The Doctor hops up onto the platform and swings his legs around, bringing himself down to lie on his back. “I’ll come find you.”

“’Kay. So, I probably shouldn’t wander ‘round in my knickers then.”  

Her cheeks flare with heat. She fidgets with her shirtsleeve, not meaning to sound so flirtatious yet admittedly eager to see his response.

“Why not?” He blinks at her.

Oh, right. That sort of thing didn’t entice him. She shrugs a shoulder and looks away, hating how dejected it makes her feel.

“Ermm—oh! There’s a way you can communicate with me telepathically in case there’s any danger.”

“Yeah?” She casts him a furtive glance.

A strange look enters his eyes, and he squints at her. He then looks away, contemplating.

“Doctor?” She takes his hand, concerned.

He pulls his hand away. “Now, Peri. There’s no need for sentimentality.”

“What?”

“You should go now. I’d like to rest without you buzzing about.”

Rose’s mouth drops open, and she steps away from him. He closes his eyes and rests his hands on his stomach. “Yeah, um. Was just leaving.”

“Good, good. Go on then. You know how to contact me.”

“You never told me—“

“Goodness, Susan, are you still here? Go entertain the others why don’t you.” His head rolls to the side and he begins to levitate as a column of light envelops him.

She wants to shake him out of whatever’s happening, but she’s not sure if it’s an effect of the room or his degenerative telepathic condition. It feels like he’s become a version of himself that she hasn’t met, and it frightens her more than she ever thought it would. Would he be stuck that way? Would he forget her entirely? She looks up as she backs away, pleading with the TARDIS to reassure her that this will all be okay, that her very existence hadn’t caused the irreparable decline of his.

The door opens behind her with a whisper, triggered by her backwards approach. She takes the final step out. Her eyes remain frozen on him, his body floating there like she’s spying on some strange séance, and then the door slides shut and she’s ensconced in the familiar, welcoming ambiance of the TARDIS corridor.

She feels the cool weight of the sonic in her hand and looks down at it, remembering his instructions. Her feet carry her to the control room, though her heart is still trapped in there with him. It will be till she knows for sure that he’ll be okay. It’s an odd sensation, feeling as though her heart is drifting outside of her body like this, unprotected by the cage of her ribs. It’s also not lost on her that she still thinks of herself in such flesh-and-blood terms. Maybe in a thousand years, she’ll have forgotten that once upon a time, her skin could bruise and her bones could break. For now though, she sticks with feeling human She’s always been a bit stubborn.

_A thousand years._

She couldn’t fathom what that might be like, living so long. Couldn’t be so bad with the Doctor at her side. But, would he get tired of her? Would she get tired of him? She’s thinking like a human, he’d point out. Somehow that reassures her. And yet her heart plummets when she recalls the strange shift in his disposition just before he fell asleep.

When she reaches the console room, she takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and scans the controls. She finds the toggle like he said and inserts the sonic into the receptacle, then flops back on the jump seat.

A soothing hum flows through her mind, and she stares up at the time rotor, watching the tubes inside glide up and down. He said minutes for the sonic, so she waits. She’s glad to have something to focus on that isn’t the sharp sting of the Doctor addressing her with names she doesn’t know. She counts out loud and starts over whenever her mind begins to wander. Twelve minutes later (seventy-four was the highest number she could reach), a chime sounds from the console, and she hops to her feet. The receptacle opens with a small hydraulic hiss and the sonic lifts out for the taking. She removes it and sits back on the jump seat, turning it over in her hands.

She’s held the sonic before. Used it a couple times, even, but she’s never had time to look at it so closely. Eventually, she grows restless and heads back to her room to find a place to keep the sonic safe until he wakes.

\--

Two days pass, and she pretends he’s just off in some dark corner of the TARDIS, puttering around as he’d do sometimes before, leaving her to her own devices whilst he does whatever he does when he wants to be alone. Rarely would he do it for an entire day, however. He couldn’t possibly keep his gob shut that long. But there were a handful of times (after 18th century France, after the parallel world) when she didn’t see him for a very long span of time. A day or more. And once, after the devil and the impossible planet, he disappeared for four days.  When he returned from his reclusion, it was the first time he joined her in her bed.

She lies back on her duvet as the memory floats to the surface of her mind—of her sound asleep and waking to a knock at her door. She’d gotten up and answered, not thinking much about her tumbleweed hair, oversized t-shirt, or ridiculous polka-dot cotton knickers. He hadn’t seemed to notice, either. Just swayed forward into her arms and burrowed his face against her hair, letting out a long and anguished sigh. He’d complained of nightmares. The worst they’ve been since his Eighth body, and she’d pulled him to the warmth of her blankets and kissed his cool forehead as he fell asleep against her chest.

They had awoken a couple hours later in a tangle of limbs, his lips pressed to her neck as he slept, and his hand under her shirt. Her arm was draped over him, her thigh tucked between his legs. Artificial daylight hadn’t even broken yet, and she remembers wondering just how long he slept and how long it had been since he last tried. She’d felt his fingers dig into the skin of her hip to draw her nearer as her heartbeat quickened.

She closes her eyes, letting the memory play out. Nothing had happened, not really. But she feels desire swelling inside of her just as she had then. That night, she’d kept her eyes closed, letting her hand trail over his soft hair, thumb grazing the courser shape of his sideburn. It was more than they’d ever touched before, and it still wasn’t enough.

After that night, he slept in her room whenever the nightmares struck. Soothing and caressing had given way to soft and affectionate kisses and roaming touches in the few times that followed, but before things could ever get too heated, he would fall asleep, murmuring things in a language the TARDIS wouldn’t translate. Even though those moments were all she could ever hope for, she became greedy, wanting so much more. She wanted to feel his weight above her, his mouth on her throat and the stretch, the relief of his cock buried inside of her as deep as he could go. God, she still wanted it. Even as a bloody hologram she felt like a cradle of embers, burning hotter the more she imagined him touching her. Her hand slides down her abdomen, fingers curling into the material of her shirt, thumb sliding just under.

 _No_. She won’t find relief now, not whilst he’s down the hall healing from the damage she caused, however inadvertently. She sighs and turns to her side, rubbing her legs together and trying to forget how he smells or how he tastes. And then, unbidden, she’s overwhelmed with the feeling of his lips against hers from just an hour before, of his fingertips barely touching her and yet stroking tendrils of fire in their wake.

_Rose..._

She gasps and jolts upright, hair flying into her face from the momentum. “Doctor?”

After a hard blink to clear her mind, thinking she’s imagining things, she’s no longer in her bedroom, but back in the Zero Room standing beside the Doctor’s hovering form. Her face is flushed and there’s sweat at the back of her neck, making her hair stick. Blushing and jittery, she looks down at the Doctor, failing miserably to mask her embarrassment.

His voice speaks in her mind, but he’s still clearly in the healing coma, with eyes closed and lips parted slightly as he sleeps. There’s a tension line between his brows and his chest stutters with a shaky breath.

_You’re not really here. You’re still wherever you were, but your mind is here with me._

“Oh. Is—um, is everything okay?” She brushes a strand of hair from her face, blinking as her eyes adjust. Sure does feel like she’s really here.

_I think so. I don’t remember much that happened before I fell asleep._

She reaches for his hand as it rests on his stomach. “Can I—”

She places her hand over his, smiling with relief that he’s himself again. There’s still a lingering worry that he’d caught her improper thoughts about him, but if so, he doesn’t seem upset.

“Anything you need?”

_Just you._

“’M not going anywhere.”

His breathing evens out and a small smile tugs at his lips.

“Oh, the, um, sonic’s upgraded. Keeping it in my room ‘til you wake.”

_Good. We’re drifting in the vortex, by the way. I forgot to set her in a safe orbit somewhere. My mind, it was… Anyway, do you remember the landing sequence for the Powell Estate?_

“Um, I think so. Yeah.”

_Great. It’s all right if the TARDIS drifts, but just in case._

“You’re seriously gonna let me pilot the TARDIS?”

His lip twitches in his sleep, a subtle show of amusement. 

_That’s probably as safe of a place as any for her to be, and the TARDIS has the coordinates memorized. You’ll only need to land. Just use the controls this time instead of your heart and Mickey’s truck._

She laughs. “Oh, Doctor.”

_I trust you, Rose._

His hand flexes under hers, and she wants to climb in the air with him, to curl around him and rest at his side until he’s better. She settles for leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. He doesn’t say anything else, and his breathing has deepened further. She watches him for a while longer, and then the white room fades away and she’s back in her bedroom, staring at the curved ceiling.

He doesn’t call her to him again after that. She passes the time first by just being as lazy as possible. Why not, yeah? She binge watches telly, surfs the TARDIS intranet, reads in the bathtub, and that’s where she gets a wicked craving for ice cream. After draining the tub and sliding on a robe, she shuffles to the galley and pulls out a pint of cookies and cream and sits at the table with a spoon.

“Cheers,” she says as she jams the spoon in the ice cream and brings it to her mouth. It takes a moment for her sensorial memory to kick in, but once it does, she smiles. It’s gorgeous on her tongue, cold and creamy and sweet with just a hint of chocolate crunch. She closes her eyes and moans as it melts in her mouth. When she swallows it, she waits to see what will happen before taking another bite. She can feel the cold substance slide through her torso, similar to swallowing but much more peculiar, because it keeps going. It moves down further and she feels it in her leg, shudders as it oozes out of her foot, into her shoe.

“Ugh!” She flings off her flat and a puddle of melted cream drips to the floor. With a frustrated huff, she cleans up the mess with a paper towel and shoves the ice cream back into the freezer.

She doesn’t crave anything after that, and several more days pass until he’s well into a fortnight in that bloody room. It’s not easy to admit that she’s afraid of her own restless spirit and how it claws at her from the inside to just get out and  _do_  something. _Anything_. Park the TARDIS at the estate like he said, and take a walk. But, she’s supposed to be dead in this universe. Can’t risk running into someone she knows, though it’s not like anyone she truly cares for is still here on this side. A disguise would make it easier. Give herself her natural brown hair and a nice tan. That thought spirals into others. What if he really will take years to recover?

If it comes to that, she’ll find a hibernate mode. There has to be something of the sort programmed into her system.

“Keep your hair on, Rose,” she says aloud to herself.

If months go by, she’ll revisit that option, but for now she resigns herself to give him one more week. Then she will journey home for a little wandering.

 --

Rose is drifting in the TARDIS pool when she senses a shift, like the earth has just tilted back into place. He has to be awake! She feels light as a balloon as she darts through the water to the ladder and climbs out of the pool.

She’s climbing the last rung when he strolls in, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. A sleepy smile spreads on his face at the sight of her. She returns it, broad and bright, and breaks into a run, her heart racing as fast as her feet, and soon enough he’s meeting her halfway, engulfing her in a tight embrace. She’s soaking wet, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Ooof!” Rose laughs. Her feet swing in the air as he lifts her up. The entire universe spins around them, making butterflies dance in her stomach. When he sets her back on her feet, her hands slide down his arms and grasp his.

“Miss me?” He grins, crinkles spreading out from the corners of his eyes.

“A bit,” she breathes, searching his face, mapping out every freckle and wishing she could kiss him like it was second nature.

“My internal time sense is still catching up—two weeks?”

“Thereabout. Feel better?”

“Oh, like new. Dunno why I put off fixing that room so long.”

“Didn’t need it till now.”

“Yeah.” He shifts his palm to slide his fingers between hers. Drawing in a deep breath, he gazes out over the quiet, rippling water.  “Stayed out of trouble?”

“Were like a holiday.”

“Really? Didn’t get tired of bubble baths and painting your toenails?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t pop in there and paint your toenails.” She bumps his arm with her shoulder and then heads over to gather her things, laughing.

“Wouldn’t have minded,” he says, but he doesn’t laugh, and he grows rather quiet as she reaches her chair.

She picks up her towel, wraps it around her hips, and slides on her thongs. She turns back to him and he’s staring at the surface of the water.

“But, oh, I know how you get when you’re bored. Or curious. Or worse yet—both. Could’ve found a planet on the brink of solar engulfment, rescued entire civilizations and been back for tea every day for all I knew.”

“Just one planet? Could’ve done it twice.” She forces a smile. He still won’t look at her.

“Nah. The second time you’d be late ‘cos you’d need to take a kip and end up sleeping six hours only to wake up hungry for chips. That poor world never knew that greasy, fried potato sticks were all that stood in the way of their ultimate survival.”

“Oi! Rude!” She swats playfully at his arm. “You’re back to yourself all right.”

And finally,  _finally_ , he turns to her. His expression has shifted from mirth to something else, something like longing. He looks directly into her eyes, his own soft and beseeching. It takes her a moment to breathe again as he reaches for her hand and draws her closer with a gentle tug. When she’s so close she can see patterns in his freckles, he places both of his hands on her shoulders. He smiles then, a slow and gorgeous thing that makes her heart skip a few beats.

“Oh, Rose Tyler. I missed you.”

She shifts her feet, feeling a little timid under the sincerity of his gaze. “Told you I wouldn’t leave.”

The smile falters as his expression transforms, passing from joy to sorrow in seconds. “I meant—”

“Yeah?”

He swallows, and she’s sure she could fall right into the darkness behind his eyes. Whatever he meant, he doesn’t say, and looks down to her lips like there’s nothing else he’d want more than to kiss her again. His thumb brushes against the shoulder strap of her bikini and she wants to scream for him to do it.  _Please_. Her mind jumps ahead, imagining it in vivid detail as she tilts her chin up, leaning towards him. Her eyes drift closed and his fingertips dig into her bare skin.

“We should head out! Have a little fun.” He releases her.

Her eyes flutter open. He’s not looking at her anymore.

“We could—we could go to a festival or a fair or a jubilee!” He wanders towards the exit, fidgeting with whatever is in his path to the door as he talks. A statue, a potted plant, a light post. “Ever been to a jubilee, Rose? You’ll love the ones on Belda IV. That’s a moon, by the way.  Most beautiful moon in this Galaxy—but you have to watch out for the flying flowers.”

She smiles, because she loves him. Loves him when he’s waxing poetic about the places he wants to take her even as he puts more and more space between them. Her heart sinks, however, and she vaguely imagines it following the same path of her ice cream.

“Then there’s Belda one, two, three, and five! Lots of moons; an entire moon empire. There are eight moons in all, but the others, well, wouldn’t survive there.” He turns to her again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Fancy a date to the Moon Empire Jubilee, Rose?” He smiles. And then there, he does it. He looks her over, a quick sweep without lingering anywhere, but it brings her heart right back up to its proper position.

She grins, lifting her chin. “That sounds nice. Let’s do it. I’ll just pop to my room and get ready.”

His line of sight skips down to her chest just before he turns to leave the room. She wants to call him on it so badly, but decides to let it go. It would only make him take a further step back.

After she dries her hair, dons a bit of makeup and slips into a pair of tight jeans and a scoop-neck shirt, they head off to the moon empire.

 --

The Doctor and Rose arrive on Belda IV, and step outside of the TARDIS into an alleyway. It’s dusk, and the sky is deep violet and scattered with twinkling stars. There’s a massive shape looming amongst the stars—the moon’s planet, a crescent of red and orange that fades into the colour of the sky.

Just through the alley, multi-floored homes and buildings are lined up down the main street. They’re crammed against each other with joined balconies and stairs. A noise thrums in the distance—the buzz of crowds and cacophony of mixed music. Every so often there’s a pop and fizzle of something that sounds a lot like fireworks, followed by a chorus of ‘ _oooooh_ ’s.’ The Doctor takes the lead and reaches the edge of the alley to peer around either side.

“Looks like everything’s set up down that way.”

Rose joins him and takes in her surroundings as she presses on her new earring with the pad of her thumb.

“Oh, here’s this.” She takes the sonic from her back pocket and hands it to him.

“Ta,” he says, sliding it into his inner coat pocket.

She’s quickly distracted once more by her surroundings. A multitude of colours—shutters, flowers, doors—inspire a happy feeling that draws a smile to her lips. The mudbrick homes are stacked like blocks and lined in rows, with little stairs zipping back and forth to the ground below. Picturesque shoppes with painted signs and adorable names comprise the ground floor, and every door and window is round and painted with intricate designs.

“S’like we’re in a children’s programme. Flower planters in almost every window and it’s so colourful. Oh, my god, there’s even a little bakery and a toy shoppe!”

The Doctor nods thoughtfully. “Wait till you see the inhabitants.”

They stroll down the main road, and of course it’s cobblestone. Rose laughs, letting the charming ambiance trickle in to banish any lingering gloom. But even so, she glances over her shoulder, half expecting to be pulled back into the TARDIS now that they’ve reached about as far as she’d been able to reach before. Her heart flutters as she braces for it to happen, anticipation drowning out everything else, blurring the colour. The noise of celebration in the distance fades, replaced by the whooshing in her ears.

The Doctor takes her hand. She looks up at him. He’s smiling, one of his brightest, and she’s still here with him. She doesn’t disappear. He squeezes her hand as they pass an outdoor café with empty tables, and she finally relaxes.

“See? You’re still with me. Works like a charm.” The Doctor says, winking as he pats his suit pocket containing his sonic.

Rose nods and leans against him, sighing with relief. Her head rests on his shoulder as they stroll along. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t let go of her hand, and she relaxes further. They meander along the sidewalk, his coat swishing against her legs in a breeze. She wants to bring up the kiss, but is afraid he’ll put distance between them once more, so she stares up at the glow of fireworks that bounces off of building edges until finally they reach the city square.

Rose gasps as she catches sight of the inhabitants, and they stop. “They’re…they’re bugs? Oh, that’s—look how beautiful they are!”

“They’re insectoid, yes. One of the more prolific varieties in the galaxy. They look a bit different from moon-to-moon, but at least this species is mostly friendly. Strong telepaths, mind, so we’re sure to put those to good use.” He reaches up, pointing to her ear.

“Friendly. So, they won’t sting us?” She grins, admiring their iridescent green skin, glittering black eyes, and segmented bodies. They wore clothing made of thick, colorful silks, and walked upright like humans, with a similar gait, though they were much smaller.

“Nah, not this lot. Well, least not with stingers.” He grins back at her, then sniffs and looks back to the crowd. They still haven’t been noticed.

“They won’t freak out when they see us, right? They’ve met humans?”

“Oh, yes! We’re welcome here. I’m friends with the princess.” He rocks back on his heels.

“That so?”

“Yep,” he says, and steps off the curb into the square ahead of her.

Rose tries her hardest to stamp down the jealousy that flares in her chest. The princess is a bug, after all. He wouldn’t… And they  _had_  kissed—but, does he remember? He’d been so out of it before going into the Zero Room.

She fidgets with her earring, jealousy morphing into doubt as she takes the step off the curb to catch up. She doesn’t rush to walk beside him, instead trails behind as they weave through the thick crowd. There are a few other off-world beings here, just enough so their presence doesn’t feel quite so intrusive. A loud boom strikes overhead, followed by a spray of red and violet embers that flash against the darkening sky. She looks up to watch, and smiles despite her growing uncertainty. When she looks back to the crowd, the Doctor is nowhere in sight.


	9. A Canvas for Fireworks

A massive firework explodes overhead, flashing purple and red and illuminating the faces in the crowd. The Doctor keeps his eyes trained forward, searching. He’s seen stars go supernova, unfurling a riot of colour that spans lightyears across; he can deal with missing this spectacle (oh, but Rose—she must be loving it). There’s a vibration at the edge of his mind, the chatter and hum of a low-level telepathic community. It’s a relief to feel it there—more so, it’s a relief to find no difficulty in blocking himself from detection. The recuperation in the Zero Room did its job nicely, and Rose should also be safe.

The Order of the Eye were always ready, always monitoring. A hive-mind community for the many members of society who are born with telepathic abilities, keeps strict measures to prohibit misuse of telepathic skills. Anyone using their minds for nefarious purposes would be instantly detected by the Order—as long as they remain in the empire.

The Doctor continues to drift forward in the crowd, breathing in the oxygen-rich atmosphere and letting it relax him further. He winds through knots of spectators, all the while searching for the line of merchants. Assuming there will be one. Bah, of course there’ll be one; there’s always going to be vendors at an event like this. Rarely has he been to a world where opportunistic individuals haven’t devised a method for profiting off of festivity and excitement. And, yes! There it is.

All the way across the crowded village square are rows of pushcarts and trolleys, each with banners touting everything from Jubilee-themed junk to handmade clothing. Merchants bark their wares, each trying to outdo the others over the ongoing display of fireworks. It’s all such a stark and welcome contrast from the market in the cavern that it brings a smile to his face.

He jams his hand into his pocket, feeling the fragments of Gallifrey resting there, and decides this was the right thing to do. Won’t hurt to just  _see_  if the rare stones vendor from the caves of Resval’ek had set up shop here. This  _is_  her homeworld, after all.

As he jingles the stones in his pocket, he focuses on the timelines that drove towards each fragment being ripped from its origin, and he can almost,  _almost_ , get a hold on them, but just when he connects, they fade off in abstract directions, culminating into nothingness. He has a general idea of where they lead, but space is vast, and even the smallest area could take him hundreds of years to search. At least he knows it’s nowhere near Gallifrey’s origin in the constellation Kasterborous. So, it’s either destroyed, or it’s hidden away, and two entirely contradictory conditions of existence can’t occur simultaneously. This isn’t the Schrodinger’s bloody cat—this is an entire planet.  That vendor is the key—she’d know the exact coordinates, or her ship would. He just had to find out for himself if her absurd story is true.

The crowd opens up near the first line of merchants, and he spots her instantly, hawking away, free of the oxygen pipe she’d need in the oxygen-deprived caves. He looks back to Rose, mouth open to tell her to wait right here, but she’s not there. His hearts freeze. He swings around, looking out for a flash of golden hair.

“Rose!” 

No response. His outburst garners a few curious looks from the people surrounding him. Panic sets in, and he swiftly makes his way back through the crowd, retracing his steps. But he slows as he remembers the sonic modifications. Maybe--perhaps they weren’t enough. He pulls out the sonic to inspect it, but everything seems to be functioning properly. He glances around, jaw clenched and pulse pounding. Even the thunderous fireworks can’t drown out the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He calls out.

She shouldn’t be in any danger here, unless the Order picked up on her telepathic field. But, that should be dampened, thanks to the brilliant mind who crafted her earrings. Ugh! Now isn’t the time to be self-congratulatory.

“Doctor!”

Her voice barely crests the pitch of the crowd, but his hearing is precisely attuned to pick out its sound. His head snaps to the direction of her shout, and he finds her wandering the line of food vendors, head craning as she searches.

He hurdles forwards, shouldering past anyone in his way and inciting various insults in his wake. 

“Rose!”

She turns towards him, her hand pressed against her heart as she lets out a whoosh of breath. He doesn’t stop, just keeps heading straight for her and practically dives when she’s within range.  She squeaks and laughs as his arms wind around her as tightly as they possibly can, pulling her against him with all of his might. After a little bit of a struggle, she frees her arms that he had inadvertently pinned to her sides, and returns his embrace. She calls him a knob or a plonker; probably both. He doesn’t care (he’s all that and more, he knows). He just turns his face towards hers as she settles her chin on his shoulder and lets her hair fall over his nose.

“I’m so sorry, Rose.” His eyes squeeze shut.

“You should be.” She laughs, and he hums in agreement.

He turns his face and places a kiss on her temple, unable to hold back his relief.  Her skin is so warm and soft that his fingers dig into her sides with the force it takes to hold himself back from kissing her everywhere else.

She pulls back to search his eyes. One of her hands slides up to cup the back of his head, her fingers brushing through his hair, and he has to pull away from her completely as the shiver from her intimate touch sweeps through his body.

“Oi, usually you moan about  _me_  wandering off.” She flashes another grin as they separate, and awkwardly tucks her hands back by her sides, her cheeks red and her eyes shining.

He tilts his head. “Well, let this be a lesson to you.” He sniffs and looks off to the sky as they resume a leisurely stroll. “And I’m used to you being able to keep up, slowpoke.”

“Oi!” Rose bumps into him, playful. “Thought you ran off to find the princess.” Her hand slips into his, fingers lacing.

“Oh, Princess Erisani? I’d love you to meet her.” He smiles, studying the stars beyond the crackle of green and gold as another round bursts overhead. “I, ah, was afraid that maybe the sonic didn’t work. You were looking for me by the food vendors, very Watson of you.”

“Watson? So, you reckon you’re Sherlock, then?” She smirks, and her head turns as she catches sight of the flashing sign of one of the food stands. “Fresh and Tasty Yarrow Leaf Lollies,” she reads out loud.

“’Course I’m Sherlock. Better than, mind. And, lots of good things to be said about the yarrow leaf lollies, by the way. Yarrow is also found on Earth and has great medicinal properties. Bitter, though. Hope they add some hanoberries for sweetness. Oh, Rose, the fruit they cultivate here is the best in the galaxy. Not just in flavour, but nutrients. Oh, you should… eh, sorry.” He cringes and glances down to her, but she doesn’t seem upset at his mention of food. Can’t really see her face, though, but he assumes she’d say something if she was upset.

She lets go of his hand so she can slip her arm through his and lean against him as they walk. He relaxes further, feeling the weight of her at his side, and she’s so close that their hips bump. For a moment, he can imagine they’re back in 2012, bantering as they walk beneath an Olympic banner, or sharing candy floss at the Paris World Fair in 1900. She hated carrying the parasol around, but it matched her petticoat and made soft shadows fall across her face, leaving her lips exposed to the warm sunlight. He’d wanted to kiss her then, but there were too many easily-scandalized humans about. Yes, it  _was_ Paris, but it was also a more conservative era in European culture.

Reluctantly sweeping those thoughts aside, he leads the way through the crowds, once more towards the rows of merchants (towards  _the_ merchant). Old worries flutter along his conscious thoughts like falling leaves. How fleeting her life had been before, how impossible it was that she’s beside him again, and how completely unaware she is of what forever means in the grand indifference of the universe.  He glances down at Rose, knowing she doesn’t really think of things in such nihilistic terms, but she could someday, if she were to find herself living for centuries. He frowns at the thought, at her someday thinking of her mother in abstract recollection— _I remember that I loved my mother. I don’t remember how it felt for her to love me. That was centuries ago._

Perhaps he’s projecting, still, the idea unsettles him. She doesn’t have the memory-retention of a Time Lord. Her brain will forget things it doesn’t need to remember over time—but that was when she was wholly human, and now she could have—well, he’s not sure what she has, brain capacity-wise.

What she does have, though, is his arm through hers. She’s here for him for as long as whatever forever means for them, and it doesn’t need to be defined. He knows that she feels the same. Before, it was quick and fierce, and he lost it all to another version of himself who can give her everything he couldn’t. He won’t squander this chance to have her in his life again by being cagey and—yes, he has to tell her now.

“Rose, I need—”

“Yeah?”

She stops and he stops, then steps around to face her. “Here, let’s go, ah… there.”

He ushers her through a lull in the crowd and under the curtain-like branches of an old willow tree. Her brow is furrowed and there’s a guarded look in her eyes, but neither hide her breathless anticipation. 

“There’s something that—well. I, er, acquired something when I was…” He sighs and rubs his hand down his face, and then reaches into his pocket to grab the fragments of Gallifrey. They’re gone at first, but he waits a moment and they reappear, rough little edges sliding right into his palm. He pulls his hand out and slowly, his fingers uncurling to reveal the meteorites.

“I might have a little bit of an ulterior motive for coming here.”

“O-oh?” Rose lifts an eyebrow, looking from the stones, to him and back again. “What’s that—bits of rock?”

“No—well, yes, they are, but they’re also…”

They disappear in his palm, and Rose gasps. “Where’d—”

They reappear seconds later.

“They’re, ah… They’re bits of my home. When I was at the market, a merchant there… she had them. Knew what they were, even. Said she saw—” He closes his eyes and takes a breath, then looks back to her, bearing the anguish in his gaze that he has tried hard to hold back. “Saw them fall through a crack in space. So. I need to talk to her, and this is her home world.”

Rose isn’t looking at him at first, she’s worrying her bottom lip and shifting her stance. She tilts her head, eyes cast down, and a little line forms between her brows. “That was before the Zero Room.”

“Yes.”

“So, you remember? Does that mean that you, um… Do you remember—” She bites her lip and shifts her stance. When she looks back up to him, her eyes widen, registering the vulnerability in his gaze. Her lips part and she reaches a hand up to touch his face, but hesitates.

“Remember what?” His voice is a whisper as he keeps his eyes locked on hers.

“S’nothing. Not important compared to…” She shakes her head, licking her lips as she instead places her hand on the trunk of the tree. She picks at the striated bark as she leans her shoulder against the trunk, propping a foot up on a root. “So, yeah. You came here to see if you could find her?”

“Mm…” He’s facing her, her back against the tree, and he shoves the stones back into his pocket.

Another round of fireworks goes off behind him, and her body becomes a canvas for the flashes of colour. They’re more beautiful against her skin than any stretch of sky, and he’s momentarily distracted at the shine on her lips, remembering how her mouth felt against his, and how he’d very much like to kiss her again. Swatting the thoughts away, he moves beside her and leans against the tree, arms folded. There’s something only marginally more important to confess first.

“I didn’t really get to question her like I wanted to, and I, well, it didn’t go so well the last time. Think she might be more comfortable this way, more open to giving me more useful information.”

“But, wait a mo’. I thought your home was—”

“It was.”

“’Kay, so, you got them from a vendor? She could have just bought them from someone else who had them long before Gallifrey was—“

“No. They were definitely the result of a cataclysmic explosion, ejected into space. Which means they could have just somehow escaped seconds before the event’s time lock. But—no, that’s impossible.”

“Right, so, you said you and your future self saved Gallifrey.”

“Exactly,” he tugs at his ear. “So if it wasn’t destroyed, then how are these fragments possible?”

“Is it ‘cos of me? ‘Cos the Moment was supposed to destroy Gallifrey, but it didn’t, because instead I touched it and—”

“No, not at all.  _I_  did it. I’m the one who took the damn thing even though I remember with incredible detail, and, mind you,” he taps his head with a finger, raising his eyebrows, “Not much this mind can forget. Anyway, I had already used it, and there I was watching it all come undone with a version of myself I have no memory of being. Supposedly an older version—but I wasn’t that man when I did it. I was—I  _know_ I was in my eighth body. But there I was, just going along with this bizarre scenario with my younger self and his friend.  _Let’s save Gallifrey!_ ” He shudders, nails biting into his palms. “Let’s save the two most destructive forces in the universe, because… because— There was some kind of hallucination. A version of Gallifrey during the first great Time War—not the recent one. Not the one I ended. I did it.  It was for the—” He squeezes his eyes shut, bile rising up at the very thought that it was all for nothing. That he’d suffered years reliving vivid details of his planet burning apart, of the corruption and chaos he had ended with a single press of a button, of preventing untold horrors at the hands of Rassilon himself.

“It’s okay, Doctor, you don’t have to keep on.” She takes his hand and pulls him towards her, her gaze soft as she looks into his eyes. “I’m here if you want to, but I know it must be hard.”

He lets her pull him towards her, both leaning against the tree with their faces just inches apart. Whilst they don’t embrace, their locked gaze feels more intimate than any touch that has ever been shared between them. He searches her eyes, wondering how this shop girl from London is still capable of compassion for something he’s done that’s beyond human reckoning.  A breeze slips through the branches of the tree, rustling her hair. When he speaks again, his voice is raw with emotion.

“I…I have to understand what’s happening. Everything with meeting my future self and—” he swallows, frowning. “She gave me some nonsense about how it exists and it doesn’t at the same time, so.” He looks back through the tree’s drape of branches to the crowded square. “So, you’re not… angry? I promise I did bring you here for the Jubilee.”

“No, yeah, s’fine. It’s important to you. If it’s important to you, s’important to me, and a little side mystery never stopped us from enjoying ourselves before.” She smiles a soft, reassuring smile as she rubs his arm.

“Yeah.” He attempts to return her smile, but it’s brittle and doesn’t feel genuine. He really doesn’t deserve her.

“So,” she says as she slips her arm through his once more. “Let’s go find this bug friend of yours and ask her about that crack she found.”

He nods and lets her gently steer them through a gap in the willow vines. Arm-in-arm, they move away from the tree and continue on to the merchant’s row, and he slows his steps when he realises the vendor is no longer there. He swivels, looking in all directions.

“But she was just—”

“Maybe she moved? Like that one.” She nods to a merchant who is pushing his cart to a new spot to try and garner interest from a nearby huddle of teenagers.

The Doctor growls in frustration. “Right.”

He unlinks himself from Rose so that he can breeze unencumbered down the row of merchants and avoid running into their respective customers. Rose runs along at his side, searching as well despite having no idea how the merchant looks. At last, he spots her, closer to the opposite side of the merchant’s row, and near the lane that leads to the palace gate.

“This way.” Reaching out and gripping Rose’s hand tightly, he darts straight over, breathing through his nose to calm himself.  He’d last left her in quite a predicament, and it just might be a miracle if she talks to him at all. Not that he should feel guilty about that after what she’d done.

“The one with the purple hat,” he says.

“With the flowers on the side?”

“Yep.”

The merchant makes eye contact with the Doctor as they draw near, and hurriedly finishes up with her customer. Without giving them so much as a second glance, she begins to pack away her wares into the shelves on her little wheeled stand. She then turns her back to them, her iridescent green carapace glimmering in the lanterns overhead as she begins to push her stand away.

"Wait!" The Doctor lunges the distance, yanking Rose along with him.

She still doesn't acknowledge him, just pulls down the brim of her hat, shrouding her face as she hurries away.

"Please!” The Doctor lets go of Rose’s hand as he jogs up to the merchant’s side. “I need to speak with you, it’s important!”

"Go away!" she shrieks.

"Just leave it, Doctor. She seems afraid,” Rose says, massaging her hand.

At the sound of Rose's voice, the merchant stops. She peers back over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. "Is this the woman you love, Time Lord?” She grins, big black eyes glittering.  “It is! My, she is lovely.”

The Doctor sighs in exasperation. “Stop it. I’m not here for that.”

“I know you think so. I saw her in your head, you know.”

“You should stop  _now_ ,” he says through bared teeth. He glances at Rose, sensing her breathing has quickened. She’s biting her lip, pupils fully dilated, as she watches him.

“Or what? Plan on threatening to have more of my goods confiscated, then? That it?” The merchant shoots a glare at the Doctor, before inspecting Rose with narrowed eyes.

The Doctor sighs. “You were the one out of line and you know it.”

Her antennae twitch, and she begins to push her cart.

"Wait, what?" Rose puts her hand on her hip, her open, expectant expression pinches with scrutiny, yet here's a flush to her cheeks that belies her suspicious expression. "You threatened her?"

"No!" his hands lift up, defensive. "I mean, err, yes. But not... It wasn't--she was messing around in my head! Trying to get information to boost her sales, and  _that_  is something to put a hand on a hip over, Rose Tyler."

Rose appears to consider this for a moment, and then addresses the merchant. "Excuse me, but what's your name?"

The merchant looks at her warily. "Abreen."

"Lovely to meet you, Abreen. I'm Rose."

"Charmed." She doesn't smile and turns away again.

"He was sick before. When he meet you last." Rose says, her voice calm. "And either way, you shouldn't go mucking about in people's heads. But I'm sorry that you lost some of your merchandice over it. That's got to be hard, you know, when you're trying to make ends meet, yeah?"

Abreen finally turns to Rose, her eyes narrowed. "And just what would a fancy hologram know about that?"

Rose gasps and backsteps, nearly tripping over an ill-aligned cobblestone. The Doctor reaches out to brace her stumble, squeezing her arm reassuringly. She gives the Doctor a quick, pained glance, but remains neutral when she looks back to Abreen.

“How did you…?”

“Saw in his head, remember?” Abreen says, tipping up the brim of her hat.

The Doctor lets go of Rose once she’s steady. He clenches his fists at his sides, but remains silent.

Rose takes a breath and swallows before answering. "Before I was a,” she exhales, “fancy hologram, I was just an ordinary human. I worked in a shop, and anytime there was shoplifting on my shift, the loss came out of my commission bonuses. I didn’t make much on ‘em to begin with, but it was hard when I had to help mum pay rent.”

Abreen regards Rose with a strange mix of contempt and recognition. “What a sweet little story, but you’ve got me all wrong.”

“I knew it!” The Doctor says, gritting his teeth.

Rose shakes her head at him, brow furrowed, and he knows that look. She’s picking up on something he hasn’t.

Abreen scoffs. "You know  _nothing._  I'd hate to find out how a simple shop girl becomes the pretty pet hologram of an ancient, insipid Time Lord. Off with you now!" She leaves them then, disappearing behind a large, boisterous family with sparkling decorations on their antennae.

A fanfare blares behind them on the main lane, drawing a crowd to the area. People mill about, watching them distractedly as they await whatever is coming down the large, swath of multi-coloured cobbles that paves the way to the palace gate.

Rose turns her attention to the commotion on the road and lifts up on her toes to try to get a better look. The Doctor tells her to wait and whirls back to the direction Abreen had gone. He spies her trying to hastily ward off a potential customer just a few paces from where she’d been before. He swallows his pride as he approaches her with gentle caution.

"Madam, er, Abreen. I’m sorry.”

She looks up at him as her rejected customer wanders off. Her antennae droop and her mandibles accent a dour frown. “Have you no scruples? Leave a poor old woman alone.”

“Please, look, I'm sorry for getting you into trouble. Rose seems to think you acted out of noble intentions, and I don’t care anymore. So, let's just put our trespasses behind us and move on. I really need to ask something of you about those stones you gave me. It’s deeply important. Just tell me where you found them.  _Please_."

Abreen whirls around, her purple, flower-adorned skirts swishing around her ankles. "Listen, Time Lord, I—”she cringes as a shudder passes over her. “I gave you what's left of Gallifrey. I could have just sold them to a museum! I know they’re important, but I can’t tell you anything else. I just can’t! Now leave me alone!”

"Please! Was there a star system nearby? A nebula? Anything recognizable? Just tell me and I'll leave you alone forever. Promise!"

She never responds, just pushes her cart away and into the crowd. The commotion around intensifies, and soon she’s lost to the swarming multitude. The Doctor swears under his breath, fingers raking through his hair in frustration.

"Looks like a parade coming through." Rose is suddenly beside him, taking his free hand. He startles, not having noticed her approach, and his nerves remain bristled (with hair rather a mess) as they walk to the curb.

“Yeah,” he gruffs, glaring across the sea of antennaed heads adorned with flower crowns, ribbons, ridiculous hats, and sparkling lights. Sure enough, an immense imperial palanquin is hovering just a few metres away, drifting towards the palace at a snail’s pace.

The princess waves to the cheering crowd through the white gauze drapes, her smile genuine and lovely as always. The palanquin stops and she stands, gathering her silvery dress as she makes her way down the little staircase. Several members of her guard, large, brawny fellows with massive helms like horned beetles, move to flank her as she greets the crowd.

"She's a regular princess Di, ain't she?" Rose says, looking at the ground.

"Oh, she's brilliant! Orchestrated a coup and took out the general of the invading troupes by herself.” The Doctor grins as the princess catches sight of him. "Er, just act normal."

Rose gives a tight nod and smile. "Wouldn't dream of acting any other way."

"Why, Doctor! Is it really you? You've changed!" Princess Erisani's sing-song voice proceeds her gossamer-clad form through the crowd.

"Oh, you know how it is. Gotta keep with the times." He smiles as the princess takes both of his hands. They bow their heads in the customary greeting, though he's lacking the antennae to tap against hers.

"I'd recognize you anywhere. My, it's been ages since I last saw you! Looking rather pretty this time, I see." She waggles her antenna at him.

"Oh, so I wasn't before, was I?"

Rose clears her throat. "Hello, Your Highness. I'm Rose. Rose Tyler." She leans into view.

Princess Erisani turns to Rose, her light green carapace flashing with its metallic glint in the lanternlight. "Greetings, Rose Tyler! Oh, you must be the Doctor's new assistant!"

“Um.” Rose shakes her head, blinking a few times. "I'm not--"

"Oh, Rose is much more than that, your highness," the Doctor says. “All due respect.”

“Oh! You have taken a lover, then?” She claps her hands together and gasps.

“Er… she’s my, ah,” he scratches the back of his head and casts a glance at Rose, who bites her lip and looks just about as unsure as he does. “Companion. Yes.”

"Companion, right,” Erisani nods slowly, eyebrows nearly disappearing into her headdress. She stifles a giggle and shakes her head. “Doctor, how splendid! You should both join me, we're heading for the royal jubilee feast. The empress will be overjoyed that you could make it!"

"Aw, well. You know, I wouldn't want to impose." He tugs at his ear, squinting.

"Nonsense, after everything you've done? You'd be an honored guest! You and your lovely companion.” She gives Rose a warm, knowing smile, and then turns to a young page at her side. “Please, help them board the palanquin. I must finish my greetings."

The page nods with a bow. “Yes, your royal Highness.”

The Doctor and Rose are then ushered to the palanquin, where they sit alone amid colorful damask pillows and platters of finger food. Tulip-shaped flowers serve as glasses for nectarwine, and the Doctor is almost tempted to snag one. There’s very few alcoholic beverages in the universe that he cares for, but the nectarwine of Belda IV is definitely on his  _not to miss_ list. But he glances at Rose, who has settled into a corner, and sees how she’s eyeing the honeycomb treats and fruit slices with longing, and decides to forego the indulgence.

The page informs them that it will be another ten minutes until departure, and closes the curtains, first the translucent gauze and then the heavy silk that had been bound up along the canopy with golden ropes. They are then cast into a cozy pillow-fort atmosphere and painted with dim light from the paper lanterns overhead.

Rose plucks a grape from a silver platter and rolls it between her fingers. The lanterns’ glow creates lovely swaths of honeyed light across her cheek, and further down the expanse of skin exposed by her scoop neck blouse. He forces his gaze upward and studies her face—the trace of a frown, the swirl of emotions in her eyes, and shifts to sit a little closer to her. Part of him worries that she’s unhappy with his designation of companion—because, truly, she is even more than that to him.

"So, how do you know the princess?" she says, offering him the grape.

"Uhm." The Doctor blinks at the grape as it obstructs his view of her jawline. He takes the grape and sets it back on the platter. No one will ever know. "Oh! Well, I just helped her unite the empire. But, I played a minor role, of course. Erisani did all the work."

Rose nods. "Of course. How long ago?"

"Century now.” He waves his hand around. “Hence the jubilee.”

“Why is she the princess and not the empress?”

“Because she married the empress.”

“Oh!” Rose sighs, a smile touching her lips. “So she’s—they’re…?”

“Er, well, you might want to put aside Earthly ideas of sexuality and gender, Rose. But to put it in terms you might be familiar with, the people here tend to form family groups of multiple partners, so the empress is in fact married to two men, two women, and one agender person.”

“That must be fun.”

“What?”

“Being married to five people.”

The Doctor shrugs. “They’re used to it.”

“So, um… she knows you regenerate.”

“Yes, well, she’s met her fair share of Time Lords. As have most of this lot—the Moons of Belda IV were nearly destroyed in the Time War.”

“So, they can’t all tell that I’m…”

“No, Abreen was in my head. That’s how she saw. They are telepathic, but you’re protected.” He smiles, proud of himself and relieved that this seems like a more appropriate time to be.

Rose nods and leans her head against the canopy post, eyes cast down and away from him.

 The Doctor sobers and reaches for her hand, entwining their fingers. “Hey, are you all right, Rose? You seem…” He shrugs a shoulder.

Rose opens her mouth to speak, but clicks it shut as the princess climbs aboard the palanquin and draws the curtain.

“What an opening ceremony! I hope I’ll have the energy to do this for an entire fortnight.” The princess sighs through a smile and reaches for a flower flute as she settles on a large, round pillow. The entire palanquin sways as it begins to move again.

“Oh, you’ll do just fine. You united four moon worlds under one banner in a fortnight.” The Doctor smiles at her reassuringly.

“Not alone!” She laughs takes a deep sip of the nectarwine. “When we arrive, I’ll have Fyn show you to your quarters—you’re unexpected, but that doesn’t mean we won’t prepare the most luxurious guest suite in the palace for the Doctor and his… companion.” She smiles, winking at Rose.

Rose fidgets with her earring. “Y’don’t have to go through that trouble, your highness. We’d be just as comfortable in something simpler. A hotel in town’ll do.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all! Arrangements are already being made, in fact.”

The remaining ride to the palace is relatively short, and Princess Erisani fills the air with stories about the people she’d encountered during her rounds that day. Rose opens up a bit more to her after that, and the Doctor sits back to let them chatter, finally letting the disappointment of his encounter with the merchant fade to the background.

At the palace, the Doctor and Rose are quickly ushered to their suite where they’re informed that the celebratory feast will be held in two hours—at midnight proper—and that they are welcome to rummage the wardrobes for appropriate attire.

Once they are left alone, they spend a moment taking in their surroundings. The ceilings are high, with draped, sheer banners of golden fabric stretching from corner to corner, their tails hanging down to skirt the marble floor. The furniture is shaped like honeycombs, and edged in gold. Luscious plants fill the room, fragrant flowers and herbs alike, but the smell of salt from the nearby sea lingers on the air.

The Doctor walks towards the opposite side of the room, which is open to the balcony. He stands there, staring out at the star-filled sky as a whisper of surf reaches his ears from the harbor.

“Only one bed,” says Rose from behind the wardrobe door.

The Doctor glances back at the bed, noting the violet satin sheets and sprays of flowers wound around the posts of a curtain-lined canopy.

“That’s all right. I don’t need sleep, so you’re welcome to take it.”

Rose doesn’t respond, just selects something from the wardrobe and ducks into the ensuite.

The Doctor steps out onto the balcony and leans his forearms on the railing by an overflowing pot of little white flowers. A breeze disturbs his hair, makes his coat swish against his legs. He sighs, imagining that there is no paradox and no threat and no mystery. That there’s just him and Rose and his faithful blue box, like it should be.

“Doctor,” Rose says behind him, her voice soft and unsure.

He turns and sucks in a breath at the sight of her. She’s dressed in a form-fitting, one-shoulder gown that fades from deep indigo at her chest to violet at her feet. Little silver sparkles dapple the gauzy fabric, and silver sandals peek out from under the hem. It takes him a second to realize he’s frozen in place and she’s awkwardly holding up the back of her dress.

“Can you lace me? It’s really wide—think they expect me to have those bug wings.”

He swallows, nodding, and she turns around after gathering her hair over one shoulder. Her entire back is bared to him, and his hands begin to tremble as he reaches out for her. Hesitating, fingers poised in midair he takes a breath, he summons the strength to steady himself.

He carefully laces the bodice strings through the eyelets, the backs of his fingers inadvertently brushing against her skin with each pass even though he tries very hard not to. Gooseflesh rises on her skin. He tries not to memorize the sparse freckles on her back, and the way a shorter lock of hair curls around the shell of her ear, and how such a broad stretch of her throat is exposed as she leans her head to one side. He exhales a shaky breath as he ties off the laces at the top, and withdraws his hands before he offers to run his fingers through her hair.

“Okay,” he says, voice hoarse.

She turns around, flipping her hair so it gently falls at her shoulders. He stares at her, but the sorrowful look in her eyes when she meets his takes him by surprise.

“Rose, is something—“

“Doctor,” she says, licking her lips. “I’m not sure how I’m going to fake my way through this feast, but I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, Rose. I’m sorry. We can—um. We can leave. Sneak out.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll… I’ll pretend, or something.” She fidgets with her dress, looking down.

“That’s it!” He grins, snapping his fingers. “Pretend you have a stomach and all those necessary bits. Imagine it, maybe the inside will work like the outside. You just have to build up your ability to make it work, just like holding things. You can do that, Rose!”

“Maybe,” she says softly and glances back at their room. “I tried before, and it came out of my foot. The ice cream.”

The Doctor frowns, swallowing the impulse to chuckle at the image that pops into his head. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

She shrugs her bare shoulder. “Part of the deal. I’ll figure something out. Don’t laugh, I can tell you want to laugh.”

He takes her hands and she looks up at him, questioning. Oh, no. What was he going to say? He can’t remember anymore.

She looks down at their hands. “I think the princess thinks I’m your prostitute.”

“Why would she think that?” He lifts an eyebrow.

“I dunno, she winked at me. S’okay. Could’ve just said we’re best mates. That’s what we are, yeah?” Her eyes drift up to meet his.

“Well…”

The Doctor feels his hearts beating in his throat. Change the subject. But, that’s what he always does. She’s angling for sincerity, and he had kissed her and she had said she loves him, and he—how could they be best mates? How could that be all they are? “Rose, when I—um… that is, when I…” he sighs, closing his eyes and swallows. “When I kissed you before. I’m sorry. It was, er, it was...” Of all the words in all the languages he knows, not a single one manages to form any coherent thought in his head. He lets it go, and the pounding surf far below fills the silence that hangs between them.

Rose takes a deep breath. “Doctor—don’t—I mean, I wanted it. I—it was…” she flutters her eyes closed, squeezing his hands. “I loved it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She looks up at him, worry in her eyes. “Unless you didn’t think so. You weren’t yourself; you were sick. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve...”

He releases her hands and takes her face in his palms. There are poems and ballads and epic tales told throughout the universe that try so hard to capture what he’s feeling right now—but nothing possibly could. He hopes she can at least see it in his eyes as his hearts pound in his chest.

“I was more myself in that moment than any other in a very long time.”

She smiles, her eyes gleaming. He brushes his thumb over the apple of her cheek before leaning in to press his lips to hers.


	10. You Are My Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content.

Rose swears she becomes real the moment the Doctor’s lips touch hers. Sure feels that way at least. Her body bursts to life, heart racing, blood pounding, breath filling her lungs.  She responds immediately. Her lips catch his and her eyes slam shut. Unsure what to do with her hands—what he’ll allow, what won’t make him flee, what could make him kiss her harder—she brings them to rest upon his chest, and his heartbeats are there, thrumming so fast beneath her fingertips.

This has to mean that things are all right between them. This is the start of the forever she’d promised him so long ago. They’ll get on like they always had, and at the same time like they never had been before—and it would be  _fantastic_. His hands move down to grasp her hips and pull her flush against himself.  A sort of agreement on his part— at least she hopes it is.

But just as she melts into him, slides her hands up to his shoulders and sighs with pleasure and love and everything else swimming through her veins, he retreats, lips leaving hers, grip weakening. His mouth opens as he tilts his head, and they remain suspended like that, on the edge of holding back and letting go, their lips brushing, but not quite kissing any longer. She feels his breath, shaky and quick, hears the hammering of her own heart. She slides her hands up over his shoulders to wind around his neck.

“Don’t stop.”

Her voice is a whisper and a scream all in one; a soft sound so heavy with longing that it pulls him in like a black hole. There’s barely time for him to inhale before he crushes his lips against hers. She whimpers from the force and then does her best to match it, mouth opening and tongue seeking his.

His arms envelop her. She feels the rough wool of his jacket sleeve against the bare skin of her back, between the laces of her dress. Her hands find their way up his neck, cradling his head, gripping his hair to encourage him.

He groans as he guides her backwards and they bump into one of the columns that separate the balcony from the room. She smiles against his lips and feels him do the same, but it’s swept away by the force of another kiss. Their bodies press together so that each breath makes them both move, and she tilts her hips as her legs part. But she feels nothing from him, and before she can shift, check whether she’s just not in the right spot, there’s a loud knock to the door.

Their mouths wrench apart in an instant, and she stares wildly up at his kiss-swollen lips, before she glances over her shoulder and back through their room to the door.

“Pardon, I am here to escort you to the feast,” comes a voice from the hall.

Rose licks her lips, feeling breathless and frenetic. Her eyes skirt over the room and back to the man in her arms to find he’s smiling at her, and it’s a ridiculous, satisfied smirk. She grins back at him, tongue against her teeth.

“Just a moment,” the Doctor calls out, and his voice is rough in a way that makes her tremble. His eyes, dark and warm, never leave hers as he drags a hand soothingly up and down her back.

His reluctance to let her go, the disarray of his hair by her own fingers, that gleam in his eyes, all inspire a swoop of heat to rush to very specific parts of her body. To her ears and cheeks, no doubt making them pink, and to another place much lower, a place where their bodies still touched. A place where he very distinctly was not showing any signs of equivalent arousal, despite what his desire-addled voice might suggest.

Maybe he hides it well? He’s not human, as much as he seems to be at times. Maybe he needs more. Certainly he enjoyed it; he enjoyed her, yeah?  Or he wouldn’t kiss her like that. She slides her arms down from around his shoulders, lets them linger at his chest, and his hands come to rest on her hips. Confidence slipping, she bites her lip, thinks it’s best if they  _do_  go.

“The Empress is waiting,” Rose says.

“So?” He smiles around the word.

Rose matches his smile. Her fingers slip under the lapels of his jacket, thumbs brushing over the pinstripes. She feels his thumb making little circles on her waist and it soothes her somewhat, reminds her that the kiss had very much been his idea.

“Oh, you know. Don’t want to stir the hornet’s nest,” she says with a wink.

“Rose, they hardly have a frame of reference for Earth idioms here, and I told you, they don’t sting.” His smile falters as his attention is drawn down, eyes riveted on how her fingers have lowered to the first undone button of his jacket. “But—you… you, uh—”

He’s only buttoned two today, the middle two, and she wonders what it means. Likely nothing. He’s all at once deliberate and unpredictable in why he does anything at all, and that’s part of what she loves about him. She smiles up at him, smarmy and alluring all at once, and his eyes flit back and forth from her hands on his jacket to her face.

There’s another swallow before he speaks. “You’re being facetious. I knew that.”

“Knew you’d catch on.” Rose pushes lightly against him and they both step apart.

He slides a hand through his hair, and rocks up on the balls of his feet. “Cheeky. I knew it all along. Master of communication that I am.” He grins like he knows he’s full of shit, and reaches out his hand, fingers wiggling. “You’re right, don’t want to insult them.”

She smirks as she takes his hand, and they walk to the door where a smartly dressed footman had been waiting for them.

“This way.” The footman turns and leads them down the hallway.

“You’re beautiful, by the way,” the Doctor says as he leans in.

“Considering?”

“Well, that’s a given.”

He winks and she bumps him with her shoulder.

“You look properly rumpled,” Rose says, slipping her arm through his. “S’a good look on you. I like it.”

“I know.”

“You know I like it, or you know it looks good?”

“Er, both. Good looks seem to happen every fifth regeneration, and I’ve seen my next. Remind me what I’ve done to deserve a chin like that?”

“Your last one wasn’t half bad.”

“Ta.”

It’s unsettling somehow—his casual mentions of his next face. She doesn’t want him to have a next face. It was hard enough when he changed from the last one, because not just his face changed. The core of him is still there, and that brings her some comfort were it to ever happen again—but the little things. The tiny details, the mannerisms and patterns and moods and the way he sounds and smells and… every little thing she loves changes. But she went on loving him despite that, and she would keep on regardless. She’s changed herself, after all.

The Doctor makes eye contact with her just as they reach a flight of stairs. He smiles, and it’s so warm and full of—of…affection, surely—and love. Yes, there’s love there, too. She feels a little wrong for calling it that before he does, but she can see it in his eyes. The kind of love that would spur him to reach across a universe just to say goodbye, and the kind of love that’s just sharing a bag of crisps whilst watching junk telly. The profound and the mundane. The best of both, right there in his gaze. She reflexively smiles back at him, heart swimming in her chest when he squeezes her hand, and soon her entire body feels like it’s floating. The heat from their kiss returns with his look, tempered only by the unfamiliar surroundings and the invasive thoughts, but it’s there, lingering like an undercurrent, making everything glow.

They descend the stairs in silence, and she can’t shake the happy, dreamlike sensation—not that she wants to. She distracts herself from floating away entirely by taking in the honeycomb-patterned walls and sheer draperies stretching from floor to ceiling. The curving branches of dark wood reaching and arching from wall-to-wall, beset with dangling drops of amber. The floor is a mosaic of ancient battles and ancient romances, gleaming in the fairylights that weave through the branches and amber droplets.

They cross the grand foyer and are led through another hall, and at last they reach the grand hall where an extravagant feast has been arranged on a long central table. There are two place settings waiting for them, and they are seated with a host of other on-world nobles and off-world dignitaries. The Doctor begins to make small talk almost immediately, recognizing several guests in his vicinity. Rose introduces herself, or the Doctor introduces her, and soon she’s feeling at ease, like the universe had been turned right-side up at last.

Not much time passes before the Empress enters in full regalia, flowers woven around an elegant crown. A sheer blue veil flows behind her glittering with flecks of amber. She’s flanked by her spouses who are shrouded with near-equal grandeur. Rose recognizes princess Erisani, who waves with a bright smile as she passes by and joins the rest of the royals at the head table.

Everything after that is a dream. She feels like she’s in the middle of an extravagant play, but not part of it, and doesn’t quite mind the idea of hiding in plain sight. It gives her time to focus on using the strategies the Doctor had mentioned to attempt to eat.  Pretending she has a stomach and all that. But it doesn’t work. Not at all, and much of it she can’t even taste. Her mind has no memory of the flavours, and can’t conjure them without the template. That is almost worse than having to dump out her shoes under the table. Soon she has to draw more and more attention to herself with every course she refuses. It’s no longer enchanting, the dream becoming a nightmare, and she wants to go back to the balcony when the Doctor was kissing her and she felt like she had a stomach full of butterflies.

The Doctor catches on, and excuses them from the rest of the festivities, declaring that he literally has two left feet in this regeneration and can’t possibly dance without risk of breaking his neck and regenerating again (and  _that_  would be hell on their lovely gossamer curtains).

He holds her hand as they make their way back through the palace, apologies on his lips, and worry in his eyes. She assures him it’s not his fault. He’s done nothing wrong, but she knows how he is. Once behind the seclusion of their bedroom door, Rose kisses his cheek and then rushes for the en suite.

She unstraps her sandals and flings them off to wash the food off of her feet. An attempt to remove her gown fails, as the hologram gods hadn’t given her double-jointed shoulders. She groans and stands before the mirror for a few minutes, hearing the Doctor shuffle around outside, and wills away the tears. She swore she wouldn’t cry about this anymore, and things aren’t all bad. The Doctor had snogged the breath out of her, and she wasn’t going to let anything topple the tower she’d built within herself over that.

With a heavy exhale, she exits the en suite to find the Doctor has settled at the desk by the door. The overhead lights are off, leaving only the glow of the lamp by the desk and another by the bed. A relaxing breeze blows in from the balcony, filling the room with the scent of seasalt and tropical blooms. The flowers that had been resting in the centre of the bed were now on the windowsill, and the bed has been turned down, ready for her.

The Doctor hasn’t said anything, just sits there, head bowed, with a tension line in his jaw. She’s pulled back in time at the sight of him like this, back to when she first encountered him at the console, unknowing that she was a hologram.

Her heart sinks, and after soaring so high just over an hour ago, it leaves her stricken with guilt. She hadn’t meant to make him feel bad. She'll need his help again with the back of her dress, but she hesitates, fidgeting with the sheer overlay of her gown.

The floor feels cold to her bare feet, and she decides to step over to the waxy mat that stretches beneath the bed. That’s when she notices a chemise lying atop the blankets. She smiles and turns back to the Doctor to find him with his hand over his face, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose, glasses knocked up a bit.

"All right, Doctor?" She picks up the chemise and drapes it over her forearms.

His eyebrows lift and he sits up, twisting in his chair to face her. “Just, ehm, thinking. Oh, er, sorry—that’s all they had in the wardrobe for sleeping. I know it’s—ah—well. I’ll fetch someone to get something better, if you want.”

“No, it’s good.”

Before him on the desk are the Gallifreyan stones, along with a few tools and things he must have carried in his dimensional pocket. She walks to him, drawn by the invisible force of wanting nothing more than to soothe his pain. Her heart nearly breaks with the realization of what he must be going through. To behold fragments of his planet—the very planet that he had to destroy to save the universe.

She rests her hand on his shoulder, chemise draped over her other forearm. “We’ll figure things out, yeah? We always do. Sometimes it takes a bit longer, but you’ve got me.”

The Doctor affords a slight smile as he tucks away his glasses, and reaches for the hand she’d placed on his shoulder.  “Thank you, Rose.”

Rose begins to smile, but she stifles a yawn behind her chemise instead. “Sorry.”

The Doctor glances over his shoulder at the bed. “Go, rest. You’ve missed a couple nights of sleep.” He squeezes her hand before releasing it.

“Yeah.” She begins to turn away, but stops. “Oh, could you help?” She turns her back to him, and twists to see him over her shoulder. “Can’t reach.”

The Doctor makes a sound in the back of his throat, and she faces away from him fully once more. Traces of that heady, warm sensation resurface as his fingers lightly touch her skin on their way to untie the laces. When he’s finished, she hears him sigh and turn away from her, chair scuffing against the floor.

“I’ll leave for a bit, give you some privacy.” He leans, making to stand.

“No, s'okay. I can do it like this.”

She walks over to the bed, and with her back to him, she lifts the chemise over her head and slides her arms through the arm holes. She pulls it down over the formal gown, and then shimmies out of the gown until it’s a pool of dark, sparkly fabric at her ankles. The chemise falls into place, and it barely brushes her mid thighs. It appears this garment was made for a person much shorter than herself, and for once she's glad her breasts are on the small side. At least it's opaque.

 Feeling sheepish, she tugs the hem down a bit as she turns back to the Doctor. He’s still sitting sideways, ready to bolt. His gaze is fixated on the game board and his knuckles are white as they grip the back of the chair.

“All right, m’done.”

The Doctor glances towards her, and then back to his desk without a word. He settles against the chair and begins fidgeting with settings on his sonic, tongue at his teeth.

“Will you sleep?”

He pauses his task to answer. “Probably not. I can go another few days.”

“'Kay. Gonna take my four hours.” She turns back to the bed. With another yawn, she pulls up the comforter to slide in, feeling the cool, crisp sheets. It’s always strange to encounter something so familiar as a bed on a planet so far away from Earth ( _most lifeforms need sleep, and many prefer to sleep in comfort, Rose_ ).  She smiles at how the Doctor’s voice crops up in her head, just part of her own internal dialogue now, and turns to her side to face him.

He’s back to work, using his sonic to analyze the stones. It doesn’t take long for sleep to claim her, his silhouette the last thing she sees before her eyes drift shut.

 

Rose wakes a couple hours later at the sound of something plinking against the floor. She sits up, stares around groggily and finds the Doctor searching the ground in the darkness. She switches on the lamp by the bed and he springs upright, head crashing into the corner of the desk.

“Gah!”

“Sorry!” She winces in sympathy and flings off the blankets to hurry over to him. On the desk, he has some sort of game spread out—a thick board with built-in basins that are surrounded and woven through with mosaic pathways. Little smooth stones and game pieces that look like bug people in different poses are strewn around in a manner that makes little sense to her.

“I’m fine. Sorry to wake you.” The Doctor sits back in the chair and places the piece he’d dropped in a basin on the game board. He rubs the top of his head absently.

“'S okay—what’s all this? You don't have to play in the dark, you know. "

“Found it in the shelf there.” He nods his head towards a bookshelf. “It’s called udus. Sort of like a cross between mancala and snakes and ladders, with maybe a bit of chess. Well, it’s actually nothing like chess, but that’s the closest thing to brebek I can think of that you’d understand. Has a rather complicated set of rules that involves mathematical thinking, strategy, dumb luck, and I can see just fine in the dark. Well, mostly.”

“Right. This the sort of thing you get up to when I’m sleeping?” She smiles and wanders back to the bed, perching on the edge.

“I sometimes play games, yes.” He sniffs and studies the board.

“With yourself?”

“Sure, who else has a chance of besting me?”

Rose laughs. “Bet I could.”

“Ha! I'll hold you to that, and I can compartmentalize my thinking. As can you, but humans aren’t typically as cognizant of this phenomenon and thus don’t tend to use it appropriately. There are also ten of me rattling around in my head, so.” After a moment, he moves a piece on the board before turning back towards her. “Sleeping well at all? That normally wouldn't have woken you.”

Rose shrugs a shoulder and runs a hand along the sheets. “Not as heavy of a sleeper anymore. "

There's a beat of silence between them and Rose yawns. "You should take a break."

"Reckon I should. I'm stuck anyway. I think the bugger I’m playing against is cheating.” He looks up and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just too good.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. "You're something. Lie with me?" As soon as the words are spoken, panic floods through her. "I mean, you know, like we used to."

The Doctor stares at the bed, his eyes following her hand as she idly caresses the sheets. He swallows, lips pressed together and brow furrowed.

"Or not, it's okay. I know you're in the middle of something."

"No, I..." He stands and rubs the back of his head as he studies the udus board one last time. "I'd love to. Sure. It'll help clear my head." He makes a face, as though he didn't quite believe his own words, and removes his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the chair.

Rose scoots to the far side of the bed, but leaves the blanket pulled up on his side.

He sits on the edge of the bed, mattress dipping with his weight, to pull off his trainers and socks. Then he just sits there in silence, facing away from her, and she watches him breathe, how his shoulders rise and fall. He's trying to gain control—to gather his wits, she surmises, but she really doesn't want him to.

"Whelp, we'll need to find Abreen if we want to, ehm..." He swings around, bringing his legs atop the bed, and reclines against the pillows on his side. He folds his arms over his chest and laces his fingers. "If I want to understand what's going on in the universe."

"Reckon she's still around? Could've fled the moon." Rose lies on her side, facing him, and curls her arm under the pillow to snuggle it under her neck. Even with the breeze, it's too hot for the blanket, so she shrugs out of it, leaving it draped over legs.

"I think she's much too opportunistic to leave during such a huge festival, but smart enough to know I'd not give up so easily. Party moves to the next moon tomorrow.” He turns to face her, situating himself on his side. “There's something I'm missing about all of this. I've been going over and over the clues, tried to jostle something in my brain by playing that game, but it's just not..." He sighs.

"D'you think she knew you'd be at that hidden market? Seems a bit too, I dunno, coincidental, yeah?"

"That was my first thought, but seems too obvious. She knew things from looking into my head, is all.”

"She might've wanted us to come here. Meet the empress, get inside the castle with the stones. Or maybe that's stupid, not everything is some scheme."

"Oh, except, most things are." He lifts up on an elbow, face lighting up.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, Rose." He smiles and reaches for her cheek, cradling it in his hand. His thumb brushes her cheekbone absently as he gazes over her. "I suspect she’s working with someone, and possibly being manipulated. But why? To what end?"

Rose tilts her face into his touch and tries her hardest to quiet the storm of butterflies that have returned to her stomach. “Um.”

"Anyway, we need to find her, she might know something without realizing it. How to approach her without scaring her off again.”

“Could always, I dunno, pretend to be interested in buying something from her.”

He snaps. “That’s it. She’s really bloody keen on it, more so than your typical merchant. We’ll do it, tomorrow.”

Rose smiles, thinking  _that_ was a bit too obvious, but doesn’t mention it. She opens and closes the hand that's resting along her side, and then brings down between them, fingertips just within reach of his chest. She bites her lip as she studies the lines and shadows of his neck. The Doctor's arm shifts towards hers, and then he clasps her hand, fingers lacing between them.

"Get some sleep, Rose." He leans in and kisses her forehead. "I'm sorry about all of this. If only I'd... Well, I don't know, if only—"

"Don't." Her pulse whooshes through her ears. "Don't be sorry, Doctor. I don't want you to be sorry for any of this, yeah? I just want... I mean—” She makes a frustrated sound under her breath, and this is it. She’s suspended now, words poised on her lips that could change everything. After steeling herself, she continues. “I want you to kiss me. Again—anytime you like. I want us to be like that, yeah? You know, if you want to.” She smiles despite feeling like she might shake apart.

"I want to.” His voice is soft, a whisper, and he searches her face.

There’s a but. There’s going to be a but—always. He takes a deep breath and that must be it on the tip of his tongue—she braces for it, throat going dry. He releases her hand and she knows he’s going to roll over, look up at the ceiling, tell her to get some sleep. When he does none of it, she gives him a puzzled look.

“But..?”

“No but. Well, maybe a small one.” He looks up and tilts his head against the pillow. “Or a large one, depending.”

“’S okay, don’t worry about it. Didn’t mean to be so… 'M sorry, I’ll just—” she pulls the blanket over her shoulder and begins to roll away from him.

“Rose.” He puts a hand on her hip, stopping her. “Let me finish.”

Hot tears prickle the backs of her eyes, and she knows he can see it, bloody daft alien with super night vision that he is. She waits for it, waits to be dejected at worst, or just frustrated at best.

“If I kiss you now, I don’t know if I’ll want to stop. Kissing you.” He takes a deep breath and exhales. “I mean, of course I’d want to stop at  _some_ point.  I just mean, oh, I dunno.”

His words wash over her, taking her breath and quickening her heart . Her voice cracks when she attempts to get out her own words, and she takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m okay with that, Doctor. So okay, you have no id—“

He suddenly kisses away whatever syllables remained, and she couldn’t care less. The hand he had rested upon her hip glides up her side and returns to her face, pulling her towards him as he catches her bottom lip between his. The kiss is lingering and sweet, and she feels like she’s part of everything, all of space and time, no need for a TARDIS, just lying in his arms would do. He releases the kiss and studies her, but she dives back in, crushing her lips to his. He makes that sound in the back of his throat, and she shoves the blankets down away from her body, needing to be pressed against him. He rolls her so she’s on her back, and they continue to kiss, heads tilting each way, trying for various angles, all of them feeling perfect and yet none of them are enough.

She shimmies, sliding a leg under his and he lifts his hips, but doesn’t lower them as his body aligns with hers. Keening, she arches, trying to coax him down, so she can feel his weight upon her. His forehead comes to rest against hers, and she can feel him at the edge of her mind.

In an instant, he backs off, and stares down at her, eyes wide and dark, creases on his forehead an indication of conflicting emotions. Trembling fingers glide through her hair, brushing strands from sticking to her face. His lips part, and he looks like he's afraid that he's done something awful, and he's punishing himself by holding back, by touching her like she might break.

“S—sorry. I’m sorry.”

"S'okay, Doctor." She tries to calm herself, to stop herself from moving so she can just focus on whatever it was that had given him pause. “I felt it, like before in the library.”

“I didn’t go into your mind; I wouldn’t without—”

“No, it's okay." She rubs his back, then brings a hand around to cradle his face. She kisses him, tugs him back towards her. He settles along her side, and she nudges her thigh between his legs. Just like before, she feels nothing from him.  _Oh._  

“Is that, um, something you need? To feel, you know. Satisfied.”

“Well.” His lips remain parted, and his tongue grazes over his teeth, like he’s tasting the words he wants to say before he says them. “No. Yes. Well, in certain specific ways. But kissing you is very satisfying, Rose. I don't want you to think—”

“So is that why…” She swivels her hips, pressing her thigh against him.

He looks down and back up. “Yep. Yes, yes that’s why. I can’t unless our minds are involved. Can get pretty close, but no, er… cigar.” He cringes.

“Cigar!” Rose can’t help it, she laughs. A big, hearty guffaw. “Oh, my god!”  The tears she had feared would fall earlier now fill her eyes.

He stares at her, growing more affronted by the second. “That wasn’t even intentional, Rose. Hardly one of my best puns.”

“’M sorry, it’s just—oh my god. I was afraid that maybe I wasn’t, you know…doing something right,” she wipes tears from her eyes. “I’m just so relieved!”

The Doctor grins. “Well, now that it’s settled that you will laugh at the most ridiculous non-jokes, could we get back to kissing? I was rather enjoying it.”

Rose smiles up at him and wraps her arms around his back. “Me too. And it’s okay, I mean… I want to. If that's what you need.”

His lips press into a thin line and he tilts his head, looking at her ears. “I don’t know if I can.”

She turns her head to the side, looking away from him. “Oh. Right.”

“What? What happened? Rose?”

“Maybe I can’t ‘cos I’m a, you know.”

“I didn't mean—I think the earrings will block me is all."

"Oh! God. I'll take them off, yeah. But really, can I do that? Can't even eat. Seems like that sort of thing’s gonna be impossible."

"I don't know. But, there are clues that lead me to believe it could be possible.” He leans down and kisses her jaw. “For instance, your skin is flushed and warm.” He places another kiss just under her ear whilst he picks up her hand with his. “You have gooseflesh along your arm.” He turns his head and kisses her wrist.

Rose closes her eyes and rolls her head to the side, exposing her neck to him with a smile. He settles over her once more, his hips cradled between her legs.

“And you’re acquiescing to what you want.” He kisses her throat, along her pulsepoint, as his thumb strokes her palm. “Your breathing is deep and quick, and your eyes—“ He gently nudges her face with his other hand, bringing it in alignment with his mouth. He drops a kiss on her lips, long and languid, and when he pulls back, she gazes up at him, lips parted. “Your pupils are dilated.”

"Y-yeah, maybe you're right." Rose smiles, tongue touching her teeth, and she feels more at ease as she sinks into her arousal.

"'Course I am." He beams proudly.

“You’re missing a few, though.” She swivels her hips, rubbing against him lightly, further stirring the heat and slickness between her legs. She arches her back, feeling her nipples pebble under the silky material of the chemise.

“I don’t want to miss anything.” He swallows, eyes roaming over her.

She gazes fondly over every detail of his face—the freckles, his slightly askew nose, the quirk in his left eyebrow. Her fingers find the knot of his tie and toy with it. "Suppose if there's a limitation it's pregnancy. I can deal with that."

“Right." He licks his lips as he slides a hand up her torso until his palm finds her breast.

She sighs and arches into his hand. "I want you to feel like I do."

He circles her nipple with his thumb. "Me too."

"The only way, huh?"

He nods. "Rose, I…I’d understand if you don’t feel ready. I know sharing minds during this sort of thing is a big step. Especially if you’re unfamiliar with it. I'm happy to just... be here for you.”

She brushes her fingers along his jaw. “I’ve never done it before, so does that mean I couldn’t? Couldn't taste things at the feast that I'd never eaten before.”

"Hmm. It seemed to me that you could. Before I gave you the earrings, when I touched you, it..." He closes his eyes, overcome by something. Whatever it is, it compels him to lean in and nuzzle his nose against hers. "Also, you're part Time Lord in a sense, so."

"Time lord technology," she corrects, bringing a hand to the back of his neck where she rubs gently.

"Yes, which was explicitly designed to interface with telepathy."

"I want to."

"Yeah?"

"If it bothers me—"

"I'll stop. You have my word, Rose."

"I trust you." She kisses him, and then he lifts up so she can remove the earrings, placing them on the bedside table.

The Doctor rises on his forearms and shifts his legs, preventing himself from touching her skin-to-skin. He closes his eyes as he steadies his breathing. She wraps her arms around him, rubs soothing pathways down his back and up to the nape of his neck. His jaw clenches as her fingertips touch his skin, and when he opens his eyes, they’re dark and warm.

Rose blinks away sudden tears, and she laughs at herself.

He gives her a puzzled look. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just. Never imagined this would happen. Kissing, and... God. Always wanted it to." She wipes the tears and sniffles, looking up to stave off the rest. "Sorry."

"Don't be." The Doctor smiles and places a hand on her cheek to wipe away the tears. The contact makes him draw in a shaky breath, and he closes his eyes briefly, but he doesn't let go.

“When you’re ready, just let me in. I’ll do the same for you. The sensation’s hard to explain, but you’ll know. You can shut me out of your memories by envisioning that you’re locking them away behind doors if you like, but I’m not gonna go that far.”

Rose nods and closes her eyes. “M’ready.”

He leans forward so that his forehead meets hers, and takes her face in both hands. She feels that same press against her mind, and it’s like a caress, yielding until she allows it entry. With a deep breath, she opens to him. Tendrils of his mind flow into hers, drift to just below the surface, and she can feel her senses heightening. Her skin tingles, impressions from his thoughts seeping into hers. Like a flower to the sun, her mind seeks out his. Gently, she follows his lead, nudging herself into his mind, and just like that, they are connected. The circuit completed.

He lifts away from her and begins loosening his tie. She smiles and reaches up to assist, her fingers brushing his. He inhales sharply at her touch.

“Okay?”

He nods. “Your metacrisis form is... Your skin is like a direct pathway to your brain, rather than being a buffer to your nervous system. Just a bit more intense for me.”

“First for both of us.”

“Yeah.”

She licks her lips. “Then same goes for you. If it’s too much.”

He nods with a smile, and waves of affection flow over her mind. She's never felt more alive.

She resumes working the knot of his tie, and slips it off before reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He closes his eyes and takes in a ragged breath. Every touch of hers makes him shiver, and she feels the reverberations of pleasure it brings him through their mental connection.

He leans in to kiss her again. Her lips tingle, her skin hums—practically vibrates from the sensual energy running through them, and soon it creates a feedback loop, where she's no longer sure where her pleasure ends and his begins.

His hands slide down to slip under her chemise and smooth over her belly as he places kisses along her neck and down between her breasts. She pulls his shirt from his trousers, and wraps her legs around him. She feels him now, firm and insistent against her thigh, and they both moan when she palms his erection through his trousers. He arches at her touch, pushing himself into her hand. A burst of pleasure rockets through her, bringing her close without even having been touched where she needs it most.

"Rose—" he breathes.

"Oh, god, is that—? I can feel what you feel."

He grins. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

She responds with a kiss, and they work in a feverish frenzy to divest each article of clothing, bringing more skin into contact. He drags a hand over her body, skimming her breast, grazing her side, and down her thigh. She parts her legs and his grip on her thigh tightens.

He's staring at her, breathing erratic, and there's a somewhat bewildered look in his eyes, like he can't believe she's here. She smiles, and he brings his hand between her legs, fingers brushing along her sex.

" _Yes_." Rose grips the sheets, and they both groan.

He continues, deft fingers seeking out exactly the right patterns and places that make her writhe for more. She reaches for him, hand closing around his length and his hand stops abruptly. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, hips jerking.

“I need—" they both say, and he swallows.

She pulls him down over her, caging him once more between her thighs. His cock glides through slick folds and over her clit. The simultaneous stimulation cycles through them, each feeling their own and one another’s pleasure. They both tremble and shudder as they grind harder, both poised so close on the edge and ready to soar. Rose’s fingers dig into his back and she moans by his ear, her lips seeking his throat.

He moves again, and he’s there, at her entrance. She folds her legs around his bum, urging him on, and he slowly pushes himself inside of her—but then the sensation stops. There’s nothing beyond what’s on the outside. She can’t feel him stretching her, there’s no delicious throb of friction. She can’t get a sense for what he’s feeling, either, and she hates it, she  _hates_  it.

“ _No_ _!_ ”

He freezes and the connection between them becomes overwrought with panic. He begins to pull out, but she stops him with her legs.

"Wait. Can't feel it. Just… give me a mo’.” She focuses, like she’s done so many times now.

He nods, jaw clenching.

Rose bites her lip, looking up at him when nothing changes. His expression swims with concern; he must sense her confusion through their connection, and she runs her fingers through his hair to show that she still wants him. Still wants this. There’s no need to stop, not when they've gotten this far, but just when she felt so real, so alive… She squeezes her eyes shut. How can she feel the swell of heartache in her chest, the burn of tears behind her eyes, but not this?

The Doctor’s lips brush against her temple, and a soothing calm flows through her mind, not removing her emotions, but helping her cope with them. He finds her hand and presses their palms together.

“Rose.” His voice seeps into her, like a balm, but it’s also a bit haunting the way it echoes in her mind, plucking at that old memory of how she heard him whisper her name across universes.  He places more kisses down her jaw, breathing more soothing words against her skin. There’s still a current of bliss emanating from him, and just knowing that being with her is what’s making him feel this way takes a bit of the edge off of the anguish. She catches his lips in a kiss momentarily before she tilts her head down.

“What can I do now? You’re still…” 

“Don’t worry about me, Rose.” He cradles her face in his hand, thumb soothing along her temple. “There are other things we can do.”

Rose nods with a sad sort of smile. “M’sorry.”

“Oh, Rose. You have nothing to be sorry for. This doesn’t change how I feel. Doesn’t change anything. We’ll just have to get creative, and not even that creative. Was going swimmingly before, right?”

Rose nods, a laugh escaping despite everything else she’s feeling. “S’pose it was.”

He kisses her forehead. “If you’re still up for it, I could—”

“Yes.” She exhales, shifting beneath him, hands sliding down his back. “Please.”

They exchange a smile, and he gently withdraws from her as he drops kisses down to her chest.


	11. You Are My Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content, and descriptions of Dalek torture.

There are breathtaking landscapes in every corner of the universe, and he’s seen nearly all of them. Some of them would bring even the most bitter-hearted to their knees. Yet none of them compares to the soft slopes and dips, the lean lines, curved edges, and gentle swells of Rose Tyler’s body. Now, he’d consider himself a terrible poet if he put that down on paper, but being right there, placing kisses on her skin and inhaling her scent, there’s nothing more apt that he could say.

An increasingly faraway area of his brain assesses just how well her mind has strengthened since he made the earrings for her, as though they allowed her to subconsciously build her own defenses.  As a result, their mental connection much stronger than it probably would have been were she fully human, and their combined energies circle through every inch of her as his hands roam over her breasts.

Apprehension flits along their connection, her worry that he wasn’t enjoying this like he could have been, and so with every touch and every kiss, he cycles the message to her that there’s nothing in all of his lives that he’d rather be doing right now. A glance up confirms that she’s received his message, in her softened expression, eyes drifting shut and a slow smile splaying across her face.

He kisses between her breasts, lips brushing her skin as he speaks. “I haven’t done this in a very long time. Never in this body, obviously. So. Apologies in advance if—well.”

Her smile deepens, and she looks down at him, her hand sifting through his hair. “Doesn’t matter. It’s you.”

He returns her smile, and then kisses across her chest to her nipple, which he takes in his mouth with a pull of his tongue. She threads her fingers in his hair, anchoring him in place. Oh, he isn’t going anywhere. There’s no nebula or pulsar or planetary birth more captivating than where he is right now. With her—not specifically her breast, although it’s lovely. And there’s another one. _Perfect_.

As he gets lost in all the ways he can kiss and lick and otherwise enjoy her breasts, he drags a hand down her side and to her hip. Her pleasured hums and nail-laced grips guide him though what she likes and what isn’t quite as good, and their connection remains a constant source of near-maddening arousal.

She runs her fingers along his shoulders, and he moves farther down her body, leaving kisses along her abdomen, around her navel, and across her hip. When he reaches her thigh, she lets her leg fall open as the other hooks over his shoulder, her heel resting against his back. She’s revealed herself fully to him, and his tongue grazes his top teeth in anticipation. He looks up to her.

“May I?”

Rose nods, watching him through her lashes as her lips part to let out an exhale. A shaky breath she’d been holding. He leans in and nestles his tongue between her folds, keeping his gaze locked with hers. She sucks in a breath at the contact, and he drags his tongue upward, alongside her clit, and back down to where he can feel she aches for him. Her eyes roll back as she arches her neck.

He probably could’ve gotten away with never admitting it had been quite a while for him. And by quite a while, he meant centuries. But that’s neither here nor there. What  _is_ here, is a loud and clear message of exactly what she wants, humming right under his own skin, blaring in his own mind, and he gives into it, his tongue skirting her entrance to collect the moisture there, and then swiping back up in a broad stroke. This time, he lets the tip of his tongue graze over her clit, and the pattern of her breathing shifts. He does it again and again, still very light and gentle, and soon she’s squirming with need, her earlier distress melting away entirely.

He gives a satisfied hum as he gives in to the sensations blazing through him, eyes sliding shut. She’s all around him and he’s quite happy to drown in her quick gasps and airy moans, in her heady taste. His own gratification doesn’t even register; pleasing her is pleasing enough to himself. He digs his fingers into her hips to keep them still enough so that he can give her everything she wants.

She bucks against his mouth, her desire cresting rapidly. He responds with more thorough swipes of his tongue against her clit, and whatever other spot makes her toss and pull the sheets the strongest.

Something flickers—a light against his eyelids. He opens them to see that she’s… she’s  _glowing_. His tongue falters as he’s taken quite by surprise to see a faint luminous sheen dancing across her skin. She doesn’t seem at all aware of it, but her hips grow still, sensing his slight abatement. He quickly resumes, and with just a few more flutters of his tongue, her orgasm snaps through her, making her arch off the bed.

“Doctor!”

He lifts his head, eyes screwed shut, his cock throbbing at the impassioned sound of his name on her tongue. He presses himself into the mattress to relieve the pressure as he’s wracked through with the intense pleasure of her release. Groaning, he’s amazed that he has the wherewithal to use the pads of his fingers to ease her back down through a series of quick little shockwaves. His breath stutters, poised on the edge just as she sighs through the remaining vestiges of her climax.

“Come here.” Rose coaxes him, reaching her hand out with a satisfied smile.

He climbs his way atop her once more, finding that her glow has further brightened.

“Look at you,” he whispers, panting.

She blinks slowly, puzzled, and then gasps, eyes going wide. “What the—”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, hand running along her arm in awe.

“What’s happening to me?”

“Mmm. Oh. I’d suspect that this is your body’s reaction to a hormonal rush. There are no, er, actual hormones, but in the attempt to sim-ul-ate,” he says the word carefully, and she doesn’t seem offended, so he continues, “your human body’s release of hormones, this is the result.”

“Hm. I feel gorgeous,” she smiles and stretches beneath him, and she stills when she feels his erection pressing against her thigh.

He sucks in a breath. “Yeah.”

“Though that’s gonna suck if I’m dealing with a rush of adrenaline.”

He chuckles, but he’s much too aroused to banter with her right now.

Rose leans up and kisses along his jaw until she reaches his ear. “Your turn.”

He swallows with a nod. “Good, that’s good.”

She nips at his earlobe, and he’s trembling now, so close that every brush of skin, regardless of how benign (she has lovely forearms) makes him gasp. Her hands glide down his back, desire sizzling through him, and she lifts up to nudge him over to his back. He flops over, and she sits up, propping on an arm so she can smile at him over her shoulder and through a tousled lock of hair.

“S’funny, it feels like I know what you’d want, and it’s what any bloke would want. Thought it might be different.” She takes him in her hand, thumb swiping over his tip gently.

A ridiculous sound escapes his throat at her touch, a high pitched whimper, and he knows he’s blushing from his ears to the tops of his stupid feet as a result. A vague gesture from his head to hers is all the explanation he can muster, and then his hand drops to grip the sheets as she slides her hand up his thigh. Maybe she understood what he meant, maybe not. He’s not sure that he even understands anything right now other than how incredible this all feels.

Rose wiggles her body down a little, and leaning in, she kisses his abdomen. He groans at the contact, rocking his hips up against her shoulder. She gives her hand a twist as his motion sends his length sliding through her circled fingers. His eyes flutter shut and he grunts, then opens his eyes, not wanting to miss the sight of whatever she decides to do with him next.

She props up on her elbow and watches him, biting her lip. Bringing her face closer to his cock, she smiles, her eyes roaming his features—his brow, his jaw, his wrinkled nose—and her tongue snakes out to lap in a long draw up the length of his cock.

 _Oh no. No. Not yet—bollocks_! He’s so far gone that the combination of her eyes locked with his, and her tongue passing over the head of his cock tips him right over the edge.

“ _Rose!_ ”

He lurches up, sparks bursting behind his eyes as the tension that had been coiled so tightly for so long is finally released. Her lips close around him a bit too late, but it still feels bloody fantastic. After a few pulses inside of her mouth, he’s fully spent and he falls back against the bed, arms limp and jaw going slack as the elation sets in. He feels her cleaning off his stomach with something silky and cool.

"Sorry,” he mutters.

"Reckon it really has been a while."

"Yeah."

"Maybe'm just that good." She winks.

"Both. Obviously." He grins.

Rose chuckles as she kisses his stomach once she's finished, and then settles beside him, arm draped over his chest. He pulls her against himself and nuzzles the crown of her head.

"Hope this glowing wears off. Look like a damn fairy."

"It should, but I like it."

She swats him playfully. "Oi, that's cause you made it happen."

"Yep." He grins.

“So how do we… um, the link?”

“Oh, right.” The Doctor shifts and takes her face in his hands. He closes his eyes. “Follow my lead, like before.” He feels her nod under his fingertips, and then begins to gently withdraw from her mind. Within seconds, he feels her leaving his, and when their minds are fully separated, he kisses her forehead.

“I miss you already.” Her voice is soft and sleepy.

“Me too.”

The understatement of the century. Her mind had shone across his like sunlight after years of darkness. To have someone he - someone so important to him share his mind…

Her touch, her skin, still affects him—not so much in an erogenous way (though give him a few seconds), but it’s making him want to climb back inside the shelter of her mind and stay there forever. His jaw clenches as he reaches over to the nightstand and gathers the earrings. With his free hand, he takes hers and turns her palm over, so that he can place them there. Her fingers curl over them and he draws her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles.

She smiles, watching him, and then works to affix them to her ears. Once finished, she resettles in his arms with a yawn. “I feel so drained. Guess it’s still bad if I miss a good night’s sleep.”

“It’s early morning already. Think the servants are changing shifts—get some sleep. I’ll stay with you.”

Rose nods, and drifts off to sleep whilst he rubs her arm and shoulder. Her breathing evens out as she succumbs to her slumber, and he stares up at the ceiling. Never in a million years would he imagine being here with her, and he can’t shake the feeling that it’s all too good to be true, that any moment it could be taken away from him. He tightens his arms around her and turns his face towards the side of her head. The rhythmic beating of her singular heart flows through him, and it soothes him until he’s struck with how cruel this design is to give her everything she needs to seem real to everyone else but herself. He forces the thought from his mind and sighs, his breath stirring the soft strands of her hair. It’s not long before he drifts off to sleep himself.

 _Rose keens beneath him, panting, her body flushed and gleaming with a sheen of sweat. He_   _’s deep inside of her, rocking into her and gripping the headboard as he gives in to her encouraging cries. She arches, meets every thrust, and drags her blunt nails down his back roughly. And then she stops and opens her eyes wide, they_   _’re glowing gold like spellfire and the passion is still brimming in her features, in the way she parts her lips when she speaks the words._

_'I'm here to save you.'_

He wakes with a flinch, and the bright light of the late morning sun blares around him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he lies there, unnerved, as the vision plays over and over in his mind, the dream merging with memory. His hands glowing, his skin burning, preparing to change. The Moment blinking into view with the words on her lips. She then pulls him in for the kiss that would prevent him from changing. He shakes off the unraveling thoughts and sits up, rubbing the heels of his hands in his eyes.

_'I staved off your regeneration so you could find me again.'_

It had all seemed like nonsense at the time, a delirious, radiation-induced hallucination, but what if... What if she meant things that hadn't happened yet? She must have known something. But what?

He feels around for Rose’s hand, but comes up empty. Eyes popping open, he shifts to glance over to her side of the bed to find that she’s gone.

“Rose?”

No answer.

“Rose!”

Still no answer.

Panic spurs his hearts to a gallop as he disentangles himself from the sheets. He dashes around the room, peering into the en suite and out on the balcony. She’s nowhere to be found. A wild glance about the room offers a few clues—her earrings are lying on the bed (he grabs them), the clothing she’d arrived in is still folded neatly on a stool by the wardrobe.

The sonic—what if…

He nearly trips over his trainers as he dives for his pile of clothing on the floor. A quick rummage through produces no sonic, and he curses under his breath. Another swift glance around the room—aha! He finds it lying on the udus game board he’d been messing with the night before, and snatches it, spilling several game pieces.

A cool breeze fills the room—he really should put on his clothes—but he checks the sonic readings for her hologram relay instead, brow furrowed and teeth bared.

She’s back in the TARDIS. “Oh, Rose…”

He swiftly dresses, barely giving himself time to knot his tie or button his jacket. Brow furrowed and jaw set, he heads across the room to the balcony, sweeping aside the sheer curtains that blow into his path from the crisp morning breeze.

The TARDIS is parked back in town, so he’ll have to walk quite a ways to get there. Not wanting to bump into anyone who might want to stop and yammer to him about how he’s been over the past century, he foregoes the sensible route and peers over the balcony wall to assess his risk of regenerating if he were to fall. Just under ten metres; he can handle it.

He pops back into the room to grab her clothing, which he shoves into the dimensional pocket of his coat, and then mentally prepares himself for a little wall ascending.

Hopping up, he swings a leg over the balcony and finds footholds in the stonework that allow him to get him about four metres down before he has to just let go and hope the flowerbed below will break his impact. He lands with an audible thud, and winces with a groan as he pushes off the ground to rise to his feet. The clamour attracts the attention of a gardener nearby, who rushes over, mandibles clacking angrily.

“Hey! Get off my glennydarlas! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The Doctor tosses a (rather forced) cheerful apology over his shoulder and dashes off, making his way across the palace grounds, out of the gate (the guards exchange weary glances), and towards the town square where the celebration had taken place the night before. The square is still bustling with people making their way to the moon dock at the harbor nearby, and he works against them, brushing past throngs of people flowing by and paying very little mind to his urgency.

At last, he reaches the cobblestone street where he’d parked the TARDIS, and picks up his pace, trainers clipping across the sidewalk.

He enters the TARDIS and she’s sitting on the jump seat in a nightie with a silk robe tied at her waist. A book is perched in her hand, one of those historical romances she likes, and she looks up at him over the cover of a rustic thief in a leather jerkin, who’s embracing a noblewoman in silk dresses.

"Rose!”

“I woke up here. Tried to leave to go find you, but that didn’t work out so well.”

“I’m so sorry, Rose.” He slings his coat on the coral strut and rushes over to her. “It’s the relay in the sonic. Apparently,” he says, not hiding the frustration in his voice as he sits next to her, “it’s not without faults. Doesn’t seem to refresh you when you rest quite like the TARDIS can.” He looks up to the central column as the TARDIS lights dim and glow in recognition.

“Yeah, got that.” She sighs. “That’ll be brilliant when we’re captured for days on end."

“I’m sorry.” He looks up. "Actually, it just might be."

"Yeah, for me. How could I get back to save your arse?”

He sniffs and pouts a little. “I have my sonic, thank you.”

“Right, that. Anyway, s'pose it explains why I still feel so knackered,” she says through a yawn, closing the book in her lap with a folded corner to mark her place.

“I’ll figure something out.” He taps the side of his head with his index finger. “I always will.”  He smiles at her reassuringly, but her scepticism is palpable as she shifts and her mouth twists.

“I mean it! I’m clever, and you just so happen to be very important to me, so!" He hops up and turns around to guide the time ship into the vortex, where he lets it drift for now. After a deep breath, he faces her again.

“Oh, here." He jams a hands into his pocket and pulls out the earrings, offering them to her. "How long have you been here?”

She takes them and puts them into her ears as she answers. “An hour. Long enough to figure out I’m stuck in here again and to find something to wear.” Her hands drop as she finishes and she picks at the long sleeve of her silk robe.

He inhales and nods. “Good choice, that colour looks lovely on you. Err…” He shakes his head. “Had a dream that gave me a bit of an idea. Well,” he tilts his head, “more of a memory that gave me a hunch. Anyway, it’s progress.”

“That’s good. What is it?”

“Something the Moment said when she, ehm, stopped my regeneration. Think she meant something else than what I assumed at first…something about saving me, and staving off my regeneration so I could find you. I’ll need to look over your—ah—the programme, though, in order to understand it better. See if there’s some kind of record or line of code referring to it. If you don’t mind that is.” He leans back on the console, fingers curling on the edge behind him.

Her face scrunches in confusion, then shakes her head and breathes in. “Oh, yeah. ‘Course. But, why would my programme help you understand?”

“I dunno. Haven’t the foggiest, but there used to be areas that I couldn’t access before because you were still, you know. But now that you’re,” he waves his hand around, “all set, could be something new there.”

“S’funny. You’d think I should be able to know what’s there, or at least have some way of getting to it myself.”

“It’s not unlike any other mind, to be honest. There are always places we can’t access. Usually because the brain deems ‘em superfluous. Or unsafe.”

“Uh-huh.” Rose yawns again, and blinks slowly. It's then he notices the dark circles under her eyes.

“Why don’t you take a proper rest? We’ll go find Abreen soon as you’re feeling better.”

Rose nods and gives him a faint smile as she stands. “’Kay.” She turns to go.

“Rose?”

“Yeah?”

“I, um…” He scratches the back of his head and tugs at his ear. There’s something he wants to say, something he should say, but he swallows down the words and looks at the floor as he extends his hand.

She takes his hand, and he tugs her into his arms, her hair falling against his face as he nestles into her neck. Her arms wrap around him instantly, and he sighs into the embrace. There really are no words that could possibly encompass how he feels about this woman. This remarkable, incredible woman who, even after everything, still manages to help him find ways to tolerate himself just a little bit more. He rubs her back, the thin silk robe allowing him to feel the smoothness of her form. Memories of her bare skin against his, of cataloguing every detail of movement and sound, tug at that ancient place in his brain where arousal still swarms, and he’s somewhat glad that his body is unable to react at the moment.

"Good luck," she murmurs against his neck. He feels the soft press of her lips against his throat and he closes his eyes.

She grips his coat as he steps back, and he looks down into her eyes.

“I’m here for you, Rose.” He slides a hand up her arm to cradle her face. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

"I know."

She closes her eyes and leans into his hand, and he kisses her forehead.

She parts from him with a shy smile and turns to go. “See you in a bit, Doctor.”

He waves and watches her walk away, stares at the empty corridor long after she’s gone. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he returns to the console and pulls the viewscreen over to where he stands.

As he navigates to her programme, he mulls over the clues they’ve gathered so far: The crack in space where the stones fell out, as Abreen had put it. Abreen herself; something off about her. How he remembers two different pasts—the past with Gallifrey being saved, and a past where it had been destroyed. His memory should have adjusted, but it hadn’t. At least it hadn’t once the Moment entered his life a second time—and this one isn’t too unusual, but with everything else, it should be counted. And then there’s the stones from Gallifrey.

When his thoughts turn to the stones, he unconsciously slips his hand into his pocket and feels them there. They disappear, and he withdraws his hand with a heavy sigh. His mind works through the various possibilities of how everything could be connected. Already ruled out a paradox. Could be a new universe forming from a split timeline, but he shouldn’t be conscious of both existing were that the case. Shouldn’t have both experiences living in the same body. If it were a simple timeline issue, no problem, but this is different.

He blows air through his lips and continues sifting through the programme, not finding anything unusual so far. If the Moment’s words to him were another clue, there should be  _something_. At least, there would be if the universe wanted things to be easy for him. He laughs out loud at that.

“Rose, have you any thoughts?”

The words were spoken as spontaneously as they had always been when he was alone after he’d lost her. Sometimes if he pretended she was there, if he tried to think like her, he could spark an idea. The resounding silence in response was too sharp of a reminder of those days, and a pang of grief tightened his chest.

“She’s here. She’s just down the hall,” he says under his breath. The TARDIS hums in sympathy.

He continues to search the data spheres in her program, bypassing any that are not strictly relevant to his search. Most of them are active now, and remain restricted, which isn’t out of the ordinary.

He reaches an area deeper than he had been able to look before, now that so many pathways are functioning. Here, the data spheres are tightly nestled and intertwined. It’s more difficult to traverse, and every now and then a pulse of energy races through them, likely due to her dreaming mind. But then something quite unexpected catches his eye. A message in old high Gallifreyan flashes on the screen (or maybe it was ancient Everian, or old world Vionese, perhaps every language at once), so brief he might have missed it.

_Bad Wolf Directive_

He blinks and sifts back over the data spheres he’d recently bypassed, and there it is again. Just the message nestled in the complex branches that join her subconscious thoughts. There’s nothing else. No executable programme, no direct connection to anything else. It’s just…  _there_.

He sucks through his teeth and grimaces. “Oh, bugger. You again? What’ve you got to do with any of this?” He grips the sides of his head with his fingertips, raking them roughly through his hair.

The udus board. He needs to start from the beginning. It had helped him chase a few ideas—perhaps now, with this new information, he could catch his prey. He backs out of her programme and whirls around to the jump seat to find the TARDIS has materialized one there from his intergalactic board game collection. Rubbing his hands together, he sits cross-legged on the grated floor and sends a mental thank you to the TARDIS.

He takes a moment to lay everything out as though he were starting up another game with himself, and squints in thought.

“Right then.” He leans in, eyeing the board closely, giving it a long look. After a moment, he slides on his glasses and pulls the Gallifreyan stones from his pocket, giving them a good shake in his cupped palms.

“Come on, show me the money. Baby needs a new pair of shoes! Where’s my lucky seven eleven, and all that other good stuff!”

He feels the stones appear and disappear as he shakes them, and after taking a breath, he releases them gently enough so that they skitter around on the game board and don’t fall off.

They land in random places, but he stares at them long and hard, his mind swelling with memories of the planet’s destruction at his own hands. When they disappear, he’s overcome with grave unease as the memory of saving Gallifrey drifts to the forefront of his mind. He blinks, head tilting.

They reappear, and the shift in his mind is more noticeable—both memories are still there, but one takes precedence over the other, one becomes much more vivid. This time, when they disappear, he focuses instead on the timelines around himself and the stones, and they shift as well. All possibilities still present, but some more accessible than others.

“That’s… that’s something.”

And then it snaps into place—a solid theory. He begins arranging the pieces on the Udus board in a very specific manner, and then hops to his feet. The timelines whirl around him, and he focuses on how they shift as his fingers work the keypad to pull up a timeline monitor on the viewscreen. The results pop up on the screen, further bolstering his theory, and he punches the air.

“Yes!” He twirls and dashes off for the galley to make himself a celebratory chocolate banana milkshake.

On his way back to the console room, he walks past Rose’s door. He pauses and steps backwards so he’s facing it head on, and puts his hand reverently on its surface. It’s an old habit, one that once came with rending heartache and a crescendo of grief, but this time he smiles, knowing she’s on the other side.

A noise from within snaps him out of his thoughts and he walks briskly down the corridor and back to the console room where he sets the TARDIS in motion to land near the jubilee celebration on the next moon in line for festivities.

Before long, Rose’s blonde head emerges of the corner of his eye. She’s freshly showered and dressed, and there’s a lightness to her step as she approaches.

He turns to face her and grins, leaning casually against the console. “Feeling better?”

“Oh, loads.” She strolls up to the console and comes to stand beside him, eyes flitting over the controls.

He reaches for her a bit awkwardly and pulls her in for a fierce, lingering hug.

Rose returns his hug with a laugh. “Wasn’t asleep that long, was I?”

He hums in delight and squeezes her tightly. "Eh, the usual amount.”

She turns around in his arms and spies the udus board. "Still at it?”

"Oh, not so much anymore now that I think I have things sorted out.”

The Doctor steps away from her and shuffles his feet. “I suspect that our, ah, psychic link helped open up areas of my mind that might’ve been overlooked before. Popped that memory back in my head.” He leans against the console again, and waggles his eyebrows.

Rose gives him a coy smile. “So, we should do it more often, yeah?”

“Oh, yes!”

Did that seem too eager? It did—she’s biting her lip and grinning, so that’s good. Good that he’s eager. He feels so confused, though. Should he initiate something right now? But wait, they have something to do—should that matter? He accidentally slips against a control he’d been leaning on, and the TARDIS makes a grinding noise.

“Gah! I mean—I’d love to!” He shouts over the noise as he reaches behind himself and straightens out the lever he’d jostled. “But there’s… stuff.”

Rose laughs, shaking her head, and then peers down at the udus board on the jump seat. “Right, so. Walk me through it.”

“Right.” He sniffs and points to the Gallifreyan stones. “Those stones, I believe, are evidence that there are two timelines in flux. The other evidence is here.” He points to his temple. “Memories and timelines.”

Rose bites her lip as she squints at the board, nodding.

“That player basin there,” he points, “represents the timeline where Gallifrey was saved. And that one,” he points to a second player basin. “That one represents the timeline where Gallifrey was destroyed. The third and last player basin represents the future. Both timelines, regardless of how much they meander and loop-de-loop and samba, lead to the same future.” He gestures along the twisted and weaving mosaic pathways that comprise the game board.

“Two timelines to the same future—is that possible? Isn’t that what happened when my dad—” She fidgets with her shirtsleeve, eyelashes brushing her cheek as she looks down.

“Not quite like this, no,” he says, soft and consolatory. “That moment you stayed with him, nothing else was disturbed—that timeline was able to converge without incident to repair the paradox. It didn’t affect other Petes in other universes, as you know. But the problem with Gallifrey being involved, is that billions of years ago, the Time Lords found a way to merge all realities of Gallifrey into one. So, while there could be endless Petes in other universes, there is only one Gallifrey in the multiverse.”

Rose nods and finally looks up at him, her eyes shining. His hearts clench at the sight, and he would rather just toss everything aside and hold her for a while, but she’d want to get this sorted. A quiet falls between them, her eyes searching his face, and he knows she’s also missing her mother with those unshed tears. The memory of one loss always brings about another. Her hand is hanging limp by her side, and on impulse he reaches for it with both of his. Whatever she needs to say, or however long she needs to remain silent, he’s there, and he thanks with every atom in his being whatever power allowed that to be so.

She licks her lips and blinks, regaining solid ground.

“So this is bigger is what you’re saying. This could destroy the multiverse, not just one universe.” Her voice breaks with emotion, and he brushes his thumbs along her knuckles.

“Right.”

She draws in a shaky breath and nods. “’Kay. Keep going.”

He kisses the back of her hand before letting it go. Returning his attention to the udus board, he places a handful of player pieces in the first player basin.

“That’s me, my future self and his companion, and my past self—and lastly,” he places a yellow game jewel with the aforementioned player pieces, “the Moment. We were all brought together by the Moment so that my past self would not have to make the choice alone. But the choice was diverted by a few heartfelt words from my future self’s companion. Clara—that’s it.”

Rose fidgets with her earring and nods, no longer watching the game board.

“BUT!”

His outburst draws her attention back, and he reaches across the board to point to the two player pieces in the second player basin. “This is how it should’ve been at the same point of time. No Gallifrey. No this me,” he gestures to himself, “no past self that I don’t remember being in one timeline, but I do in the other. Just my future self and his friend, prancing around in bowties and collecting hats, or whatever other ridiculous things I’ll want to do then.”

Rose remains unusually quiet as she watches. A look of uncertainty enters her eyes, and she blinks it away.

The Doctor swallows and keeps going, abandoning his udus board explanation outright.  “Everything appeared to be normal again once Gallifrey was saved. I went back to my TARDIS and immediately forgot the whole of it ever happened and went on still believing Gallifrey had been destroyed.”

“So…” Rose furrows her brow. “If reapers come during a paradox, what comes when something like this happens?”

“Ehm, well. The only thing attracted to broken timelines like this would be Time Wraiths, but there shouldn’t be any more of them.” The Doctor sits down by the game on the jump seat and rubs his hand down his face.

“This has happened before, then. So, what causes ‘em?”

“The only time anything like this has ever happened was during the last great Time War. Otherwise it’s… Well, it’s impossible without the universe attempting to strike a balance. Many impossible things happened during the Time War, though. People trapped in millennium prisons, consciousnesses torn apart across thousands of timelines and forced to witness every horror the universe has ever seen within the span of a second, and so on.” He scratches the back of his neck.  "Time Wraiths were Time Lords who were held in what we called horror chambers on Dalek ships. They were tortured and forced to regenerate repeatedly until they couldn't anymore, and then suspended in time as pure regeneration energy. Suspended in agony."

She puts a hand over his, and he grasps it firmly.

He's quiet for a long time before he can continue, voice raw. "When they were released from the chamber, they were drawn to broken timelines. They feed off of the energy leaks and remnants of disintegrating atoms that once comprised worlds and stars.”

“Sounds bloody  _horrible_.”

He nods slightly. “I doubt they’ll be an issue for us, though. Like I said. Gone.” He sits up straight and picks up the Gallifreyan stones and peers at them closely, eyes narrowing. “Unless… no. No, no, no.”

“What? What is it?”

Timelines and equations and multi-versal physics began spinning through his brain. He mentally lines up the dominoes and sets them falling, and one after the other, they lead to the most likely scenario. Shoving the stones in his pocket, he hops up and begins to pace, spurred into a frenzy of thought as he tries to combat the rush of dread that overcomes him.

“I had previously assumed we were dealing with-with a run-of-the-mill paradox, for which the energy differential was allocated when the Moment exploded to create the star—and perhaps the timelines were still split somehow and we’d just have to figure out how to close them off, but what if—what if when Gallifrey was brought back, the Time Wraiths came with it? That… that would explain a lot, actually… They’d want to keep the rift between timelines open, despite the paradox being sorted. They’d have found a weak spot in the timelines, and rushed in like water making its way to the sea.”

Rose’s mouth falls open and she looks at the floor like she’s searching it for solutions. “Right, okay. That’s—that’s bad, yeah. So, what do we do?”

“I think we need to sever the future from one of the timelines, probably ours, but I’m not sure how to do that, or what will happen if we do.”

“Happen to what?”

“To us. To all of this.” He waves his hand around. “That’s why I have memories of both in my head—and I shouldn’t, which is another problem. You see, both timelines for Gallifrey shouldn’t come back together to lead to the same future, they should split off into infinity, essentially forming parallel universes. But they can’t, because there’s one bloody Gallifrey and only one possibility for Gallifrey can exist in the blasted multiverse!”

“Wh-What happens if we don’t do anything? Worst case scenario.”

“The Time Wraiths will keep feeding and feeding until there’s nothing left of either timeline.” He looks down at the game board, voice lowering, then with a cry of frustration, he swipes it all off, pieces flinging across the console room and slipping between the holes of the grating.  He backs away, bumping into the console.

“This is my punishment, isn’t it? My punishment for reaching too far. Now I get to destroy an entire multiverse, brilliant! What have I done?”

“Doctor, stop! Listen to me!” Rose grabs his arm and pulls him around to face her. “That isn’t gonna happen. You’re here with me, but you’re also in the other universe, and I—I don’t want anything to happen to any version of you. You’ve got to be wrong somehow, maybe there’s a way to keep everything safe, yeah?”

The Doctor shakes his head. “There’s something else. When I looked at your programme, the words were there, very deep in your subconscious. Bad Wolf.”

Rose draws in a sharp breath. “But I thought—”

“Bad Wolf Directive, to be exact.”

“How is that still following me around? Sounds like it’s some kind of command.” She shivers and rubs her arms. “Seems like every clue we get makes me feel more lost.”

“You saw all of time and space when you…” he clenches his teeth, remembering the golden halo burning around her body. “Maybe you foresaw something.”

“Wish I was a bit more helpful to myself then.”

The Doctor collapses into the jump seat and glares at the central column. He removes the stones from his pocket, conflicted on whether he’d like to chuck them in the incinerator or let them be a constant reminder that he screwed things up not once—but twice. Rose approaches him, head tilted and brows drawn together. He sets the stones on the jump seat nearby, and grasps her hand, tugging her onto his lap. She settles sideways, legs bent so she doesn’t disturb the stones, and lays her head against his shoulder as he curls his arms around her tightly.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me,” he whispers.

Rose nods and drapes her arm across his chest, hand resting on his shoulder. She turns her face into his neck and takes a deep breath.

“Me too.”

“We need to find our friend Abreen. Might want to dress for swimming, ‘cos where we’re going there’s an awful lot of water.”

“Could the Time Wraith thing explain her?”

“Might.”

Rose nestles closer. “It’s a start.”

The Doctor nods, but neither of them move. Tucked away in the time vortex, in each other’s arms, it’s as though nothing else exists, and the possibilities are endless at the same time. The stones flicker from sight out of the corner of his eye, and he holds her tighter.


	12. Ghost in the Rift

Rose returns to the console room after changing into trainers, shorts, and a vest top—dress for swimming, he’d said. But she knows better; they aren’t on holiday. She stops by the rail that encircles the console, using it for balance as she adjusts the heel of her trainer. The Doctor quickly shoves something into a recess just under the console and spins towards her with a rather put-on smile.

Rose approaches, attempting to peer around him. “What was that?”

The Doctor leans to block her view, and his fake smile fades as his eyes sweep over her. “Rose, you’re… ahem. Legs.”

Rose looks down at her legs. “Yeah. What about ‘em? Come on, Doctor, you’ve seen me naked; don’t change the subject.”

His eyes go unfocused and a smug smile crosses his face. “I have, haven’t I.”

Rose grins and comes to stand next to him, coyly tracing one of the instruments on the console with a fingertip. “So, what was that just then?”

“What was what?”

“You hid something. Time Lord reflexes getting a bit slow?”

“Oi! Never, thank you. And it was just, erm… just a thing of mine. You know. Anyway—we’re here. Belda moon numero dos. Shall we?”

He throws a lever down and the TARDIS shudders as it disengages from the time stream. Rose sways with the motion of the TARDIS, her body now attuned to the time ship’s most erratic jostles and quakes.

“Looked like a mobile phone.” She smiles at him, her trademark tongue-touched grin.

“Did it?” He adjusts his collar, totally busted, and wanders away from the console to head for the door. “Let’s go, time to put our serious faces on.”

“There’s a time for that?” She follows. There definitely had been a mobile in his hand moments ago, but she doesn’t want to push him; he’ll tell her when he’s ready.

He makes a happy noise as he reaches for his coat. She helps him get it over his shoulder, and he looks down at her with a smile. Her line of sight slips to the floor briefly.

“Promise I’ll tell you what it was when we’re done here. We need to focus, all right?”

Rose nods, fixing the lapel of his coat. “’Course.”

They exit onto a winding causeway. A dense, boggy forest looms all around. Eerie glowing lights hover in the distance through the darkness. Hanging moss billows like sails along the branches above, and the roots of the trees are lifted so high out of the water, that the causeway leads straight under many of them. It’s early evening, but it might as well be midnight. At least there are lights hanging from the trees along the wooden path. Rose crosses to the edge of the causeway and sees her reflection in the dark, still water that surrounds them.

"Definitely not swimmin' here."

The Doctor chuckles, his reflection joining hers. “Sorry. Forgot the Moondock’s in the bayou village. This moon is mostly water, with the only land on the whole planet existing as either volatile volcanoes or these marshy areas."

“Fantastic. ‘M not full of blood, but I am made of light. Should I expect moths and things? Should’ve put bug spray on?”

The Doctor laughs. “Nah. Not unless you intend to repel the locals.”

Rose laughs.

He grins back, but it lingers a bit long and Rose lifts an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“You just joked about yourself. I’d say that’s progress, yeah?”

Rose smiles, swiveling a bit as she lets his assessment resonate with her. “I think so, yeah.”

His grin shifts to something more wolfish. “Though… I could make you light up if you like. Might help us see better.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Doctor! Listen to you. One good shag…” She plays with a strand of her hair. “As much as I wanna, I think we should get a move on.”

He sniffs and nods. “Right.”

They clasp hands, smiling like there's no universal threat to deal with, and follow the causeway. Flags and streamers with the jubilee emblem flutter in a dank breeze, guiding the way to the main celebration platform.

Up ahead they spy a large clearing with a circular pool of water at its centre, reflecting the last colourful rays of sunset. The trees that surround the clearing have roots extending high out of the water, making room for two levels of dwellings underneath them.

The festivities are spread along the perimeter boardwalk. Rose spots merchants set up on an enormous lily pad that sits just off the base of one of the under-root platforms.

“There: merchants.”

“Yep.” The Doctor leans into his stride, so determined he nearly lets go of her hand.

Rose squeezes his hand and grabs his arm. “Wait, we need to think about this. She was properly cross last time.”

“I have a plan.” He slows so that they’re strolling together at a more leisurely pace.

“Oh you do, yeah? What is it, then?”

“What you said before about buying something from her. I think it’ll do the trick. Still seems interested in making money, as well as my relationship status.”

Rose peers across the water in thought, watching the Beldians mingle with other lifeforms in the open-air dining area along the boardwalk. She envisions the Doctor approaching Abreen, asking to see the glinting rare jewels and meteorites from all across the universe. Her cheeks grow warm at the thought that his ruse would involve buying something special for  _her,_ and though she’s never expected, nor desired anything like that from him, the idea of it all—playing at courtship—makes her feel butterflies. But that won’t do.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea now. We don’t want her to distrust us anymore than she already does.”

“Do you trust her?”

“I trust that she’s got a reason for her behaviour. You saw her face when I spoke to her—she’s not telling us the whole story, and it’s ‘cos she doesn’t trust  _us_.”

“Yeah, you’re right. She was rather put off that I’m a Time Lord. But, can’t say I blame her. Not the most noble of races, Time Lords.”

“Ah, but if you’re the only one, and you’re noble, then Time Lords are a noble race.” She links her arm through his, and notices the blush that had cropped up on his cheeks. “Let’s just approach it like we’re here to help her, open and honest. We want something from her, but we also want her to feel safe.”

The Doctor stops walking, and tugs her around so she’s facing him. He takes both of her hands and just gazes at her wordlessly.

Rose tilts her head. “Something wrong?”

“No.”

His thumbs brush over her wrists, and he's giving her a look that makes her feel like she’s standing at the shore under the stars, sinking into the sand with every wave that sweeps at her feet. The expanse of time and space overhead, in his eyes, locks her in place. Her heart swells with love for him, for the universe, for how she’s never felt so important as when he’s looking at her like this.

He then he drops one of her hands and relinks their arms as they resume their way to the merchant area. He never elaborates, but he doesn’t need to. She only hopes he feels the same about her.

They spy Abreen amongst the merchants and remain unnoticed until they are next in her queue. She takes one look at the Doctor and scowls, flicking her hands to shoo them before they can say hello. Convincing her to give them the time of day takes a monumental effort, but at last she relents—as long as she can talk to Rose. And  _only_ Rose.

The Doctor agrees to hang back, though not without grumbling, and preoccupies himself with the other stalls nearby.

Once he’s out of earshot, Abreen turns to Rose. "Out with it then."

Rose braces herself in advance for a disgruntled reply. “’Kay. Well. You know we need to know where you found the stones. You said they’re important, and they are. They’re the key to saving the multiverse. The crack you saw? It’s a threat to all of us, and we're just trying to--”

“ _He's_  the threat to all of us, a buzzing, meddlesome Time Lord!” Abreen flashes a threatening glare in his direction.

Rose watches the Doctor for a quiet moment. "He's called the Doctor, you know. He'll be the one who saves us. You know those meteorites you gave him? They’re trapped between timelines, and until we separate the timelines, reality will slowly tear itself apart. Did you know that when you tried to sell them to him? Did you know he’d be there?"

"I-I didn't, and no. I always go to Resval’ek to sell the rarities, only place their true value is appreciated.” She averts her eyes, and makes a face. “They whispered to me, the stones. I heard thousands of voices crying out. Hear ‘em now, in fact.” She glares in the Doctor’s direction. “When a Time Lord came into the market, I jumped at the chance to be rid of them. Thought I’d make a nice bit of coin in the process, but he had to go and cause a racket. At least when he went, the voices went with him.”

“And that’s it? That’s the reason why you wanted us to go away?”

Abreen gives a shrug. “Part of the reason. But the meteorites aren’t dangerous. The crack? There’s as dangerous of a place as any, and I refuse to tell you where I was. I can’t.” Her antennae twitch to the side, reminding Rose of how her cat, Puffin's ears would turn to some noise he’d heard that she couldn't perceive. A panicked look enters Abreen's eyes soon after.

Senses now on edge, Rose notices movement in her periphery and tilts her head to look without drawing attention to herself. Beside a flame torch, there’s a cloaked figure that hadn’t been there just seconds before, standing utterly still despite the commotion of the crowd around it. Mandibles poke out from the shadow cast by the cowl, and there’s something long and reflective emerging from the robe’s sleeve. She looks back to Abreen to find she’d been looking as well.

“Who is that watching?"

"It's the Order, sniffing around again. They have ever since I..."

Rose purses her lips, remembering when the Doctor told her about the Order of the Eye, or the telepathy police, more like it. "Ever since you…?

“That’s enough.”

“Well, fine, if you don’t want to tell me. They won't mess with us. Won’t mess with the Doctor, anyway; he’s a friend of the Empress, so, he’ll keep them from arresting us."

Abreen grumbles in agitation. “They’re definitely listening in that case!”

“Abreen.” Rose tries to keep the impatience out of her voice. "Where were you when it happened? We need to know.”

“I’m trying to keep from thinking of it, I don’t want  _them_  to know!”

“Please, Abreen, what would they do? You’d be helping us save the universe! That has to make up for whatever they’d be cross about, yeah? Also, the Doctor may be a Time Lord, but he’s good. He helps people—you should know, he helped the moon kingdom unite under the Empress.”

“That was before the war. War changes everything,” Abreen says, a bitter edge to her voice.

Rose detects motion again and tilts her head to spot another cloaked figure facing them, standing still in the crowd. A quick glance around reveals there are several more robed and hooded figures behind them, forming a semi-circle several feet away from Abreen’s stall. She searches for the Doctor in the surrounding crowd and doesn’t see him anywhere at first.

Ah—there. Eating something—she should’ve known. She watches as he strolls up to the Order officer nearest to himself and strikes up a conversation. The robed figures begin to recede into the crowd.

Rose sighs in relief. “There. I told you, now— _please_.”

Abreen stares into the crowd until she’s certain the Doctor had succeeded.

"All right! All right…” She burrows her face in her hands, seemingly gathering strength, and then looks up, a distant look in her big, black eyes. “We were heading towards the Adraxim system—there’s an uninhabited planet there that’s hit twice a year with a meteor shower made of a rare ore that—well, anyway…there was nothing on our sensors, but I felt like our ship was caught in a gravity well. We lost navigation just outside of the system. Ship just kept drifting, and eventually lost power completely. That’s when we saw the crack. Like a frozen streak of lightning across the darkness. There were a lot of things floating about. Big chunks of rock, and bits of other ships—thought maybe we’d found the wreckage of an old collision of some sort.”

"Someone else was with you?”

Abreen looks away, her eyes shining in the lantern light above. A few customers form a queue at her stall, and Rose waits patiently until Abreen finishes tending to them. At last, she turns to Rose.

“Saw the stones shoot out of the crack, heard ‘em plink off of the ship hull, and that’s about when the power came back on.” Abreen resumes her story, no longer looking at Rose. “Everything seemed fine, so we put on our suits and tethered to the ship, then went out exploring. I went straight for the meteorites that hit us, my… my daughter went another direction.”

Rose’s heart sinks.  “Your daughter was with you.”

“When I finally caught the stones, I looked up and realised I’d drifted too close to that crack. I headed for the ship. Didn’t see Trese anywhere, though her tether was still attached. That’s when those-those lightning creatures attacked. I called out to Trese over and over, she never responded—she was gone! Ship kept shaking about every time they hit it, then her tether broke.” She sobs, making her shoulders shake.

Rose pulls Abreen against her and rubs her back with soothing circles. “Oh, Abreen. You did everything you could.”

“I couldn’t save her!” She chokes on another sob, and wipes at her eyes with her sleeve. “Been trying to sell so I can buy another fuel cell to get out there again. Do another search. I can’t let anyone know—they’ll think I…No one would believe what I saw! They all think I’m greedy, they do. They all think I’d… my own daughter…”

“Abreen…”

“Oh, don’t you try to make me feel better. I  _am_  greedy. I’ve done terrible things, but now… The stones… they whispered to me. Told me to go as far away as possible, and she’d be safe. So many voices whispering in my head, urging, urging. Don’t you hear it? Right now, they’re scolding me for telling you. I had to get rid of them—nothing but bad luck ever since. It’s all I hear right now! Thousands of whispers; make it stop!” She curls over, and shakes as she cries.

The Doctor approaches, concern on his face. Rose rises to meet him.

“We need to go. Distracted the Order with a bit of telepathic sleight of mind.  Find out anything?”

“She told me where she was when she was attacked. The Adraxim system? Said her ship lost power.”

The Doctor’s expression goes blank for a moment as he stares at her. She’s about to ask what’s wrong, when he nods, the look passing as quickly as it came. “Strange. I was sure I checked that area on the TARDIS scanners, but nothing was there before. Anyway, just had a word with the Order officer—they suspect Abreen of illegal telepathy. Seems her mind is connected to the stones, and it’s triggering their security barrier that protects the telepathic field.”

“There’s another thing, Doctor.”

She fills him in on Abreen’s recounting of what happened to her daughter. The Doctor frowns.

Abreen wipes her eyes, her antennae drooping as she looks up, overhearing. “I saw her screaming for me, reaching out… but I couldn’t help her. Couldn’t touch her.”

“I’m so sorry, Abreen.” Rose says. “We’ll do what we can to help find Trese. Thank you for telling me, even though you were so afraid.”

“Do you think she… Is she dead? Was to be her first time hunting after the meteor shower…”

The Doctor doesn’t respond at first, just stares out over the water. “I don’t know. If she is alive, she’s in the howling—the void between, and she’s not going to be the same.”

Rose gives him a look that he doesn’t notice, and then rubs Abreen’s back. “We’ll do whatever it takes to try to get her back for you.”

After making sure that the Order will leave Abreen alone, they depart Belda Moon II and return to the TARDIS in silence. The Doctor heads straight for the console and guides the TARDIS into the time stream, and once they reach the Adraxim system, the Doctor scans the area, eyes boring into the view screen as the results flicker by.

Rose stands at his side, rubbing her arms. “Anything?”

“There’s nothing at all… Stay here." The Doctor hurries across to the doors and pulls one open.

Disregarding his command, she joins him, and peers out into space. Outside is a field of debris and chunks of rock, just floating along as though caught in a current. The TARDIS slowly turns, and at last, faces the enormous rift. It’s vast—much larger than the mere crack that Abreen had suggested in her story. And far wider than lightning. More like a… gash. A wound.

“What’s all this stuff floating around?”

The Doctor’s brow furrows, a deep dimple forming in his cheek. “Lettuce. Like when you’re starving and you don’t pay attention to your sandwich falling apart, you just shove it into your mouth, spilling crumbs and bits of lettuce everywhere.”

“We still have power.”

“ _We_  have a TARDIS.”

“Why isn’t any of this stuff showing up on the scanner? Will we be attacked?”

“I dunno.”

A fleet of small ships stream by overhead, firing at the rift. There are no explosions, and as the ships close in, they vanish without a trace. Rose squints at the bright light that sparks around the edges of the rift. She takes a step back from the threshold. 

“Blimey... what the hell?”

After a few moments of silence, a planet drifts by, encompassing their entire field of vision until floats closer and closer to the rift. It picks up speed, and begins to disintegrate. Then it’s gone.

Dread and fear swirl inside, and she looks up at the Doctor, sees his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His jaw clenches and nostrils flare.

“Eddatsi. Inhabited, earth-like planet.” His voice is soft, reverent. “Five billion Eddatsians and countless flora and fauna not found anywhere else in the universe… all extinct. Deep space-exploration capabilities just beginning to take off; mostly to mine asteroids in the system’s version of a Kuiper-belt zone. ” He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in and out through his nose, focusing. “Not able to lock on a particular timeline. They’re all in flux. We’re not watching these things as they occur, Rose.”

Rose grips the doorframe as a comet streaks by from below, its tail flinging ice and dust in their direction. It, too, approaches the rift and vanishes. Something is then ejected from the rift—large chunks of metal with blinking lights. The remains of an entire space station.

"Nor are these objects necessarily from this universe. Remember— the multiverse is at risk."

“How will we get close enough to throw the stones through without getting sucked in ourselves? Maybe we can just throw them—”

The rift sparks along its seams, and begins to widen—it’s then that Rose spots the eerie, ghostlike shapes of creatures sliding around the perimeter of the rift.

“Time Wraiths.” The Doctor grits his teeth, his knuckles white against the door frame. “They’re just feeding and feeding. They’ll try to attack if we get close—think that’s why they attacked Abreen. They’re protecting their prey from what they perceive as scavengers.”

Rose shudders, recalling the Doctor’s tale of regeneration torture on prisoner Time Lords during the Time War. She looks over at the Doctor, aching for him, knowing how much it must haunt him to face the vestiges of his homeworld suspended in such a state. She wants to reassure him somehow, wants to remind him of how much peace he’s brought to the universe, but the hollow look in his eyes sends those thoughts into retreat.

“How the hell are we going to stop this?” His voice is a whisper, almost pleading.

“Maybe we can just chuck the meteorites out and the rift will suck them back in?”

The Doctor shakes his head. “That won’t close the rift. I see that now… You see, we’re not seeing things as they’re happening. Timelines are all muddled up. Some of these things are happening in the past, some haven’t happened yet. Some didn’t even happen in this universe. This is ground zero of the end of everything as we know it. The rift is growing, consuming everything in its path. No wonder the TARDIS didn’t pick up on it. It doesn’t even exist.”

“But—we see it. It’s right there, it bloody well does exist.”

“Its existence and nonexistence both were possible at one point in time, so that’s what we see. What’s inside doesn’t exist. Our brains interpret it as light, because that’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Rose bites her bottom lip and reaches for his hand. “What are we gonna do? You can think of something, yeah?”

The Doctor takes her hand, and his grip is so strong that she winces. “We can’t let the TARDIS get too close. Even her shields won’t be able to stop it from pulling us in.”

“Wait—look! Is that…?”

Up ahead, Rose spots a woman floating in space. She’s holding an odd sort of gunlike device, and drifts closer to the rift, blonde hair trailing oddly in the vacuum of space. Closer and closer towards the rift the woman floats, until she’s just a tiny spec, too far away to see. The TARDIS cloister bell rings, and her lights flicker mauve.

An arrow of dread pierces her chest, and Rose feels the Doctor drop her hand.

He pulls the doors shut with a slam, and Rose whirls around to watch as he’s already at the controls, frantically setting a course. They enter the time stream, and he exhales, bowing over the console, arms holding up his weight.

Rose hangs back near a coral strut, terrified of the look in the Doctor’s eyes. Terrified that who she’d seen had been herself.

“Doctor, was that—”

“I’m taking you home.”

“Excuse me? But—in case you forgot—”

The TARDIS shudders, making a staccato grinding sound, and Rose braces herself against the strut. Once they’ve landed, the Doctor crosses over to her in just a few long leaps.

“Rose, remember that thing you saw earlier? You saw me with a thing. It was a mobile phone; you were right. Belonged to a friend of mine who traveled with me—anyway, she contacted me, seeking help. She’d never reach out to me unless it was pretty dire.”

Rose thought she was beyond jealousy by now, especially after being wrong about the bug princess, but a spark of it flickered inside. She knew he traveled with others while she was gone, so it felt wrong, irrational. Maybe fear had put her on old edges, welcome grievances compared to the horrors she’d just witnessed.

“All right, then we should go see what she wants, but what about the rift?”

He puts his hands on her upper arms, squeezing gently. “Rose, you’ll be able to stay with them. It’s UNIT, or Torchwood… Possibly both. Forgot to check. Anyway, she’s calling from UNIT, so that’s where—”

“Stay with them? No, that’s not gonna happen. And, hang on— _Torchwood_?  _The_  Torchwood?”

“Yeah. There’s a new Torchwood, headed up by… someone you may remember.” He makes a face. “Anyway, they’re a bit more like the Torchwood in the other universe now, though not quite as financially secure. They work with UNIT for some of the more world-threatening cases. Together, they have a large cache of offworld tech, so I’m going to kill two birds with one stone while we’re there. See if I can construct something that’ll help me close the rift.”

“Us, Doctor.” She gives him a meaningful look. “You’re not leaving me there. We’re together.”

He gazes at her, eyes searching hers. The dimple appears on his cheek again, and she reaches for him, brushing her thumb over the little dip. There’s stubble along his jaw, and she wants to kiss him, but she withholds the urge as he nods.

“I can’t let it take you away from me,” he whispers, voice cracking.

Rose’s eyes sting, and she looks up at his hairline, brushing aside a few out of place locks. “It’s not gonna. What we saw might not have even been me, yeah?”

“It was.”

“But you said yourself there were things out there from other universes. Might not’ve been this me.”

The Doctor shakes his head. “Rose, do you remember when you said that you don’t want anything to happen to any version of me?”

She nods.

“Is it a stretch to imagine I feel the same about you?”

Rose bites her lip, and lets the tear fall. Her heart swells despite the gravity of the situation bearing down on her. “Yeah, well, the multiverse is in danger, Doctor. That’s more important than anything.”

The Doctor shakes his head ever so slightly.

“Don’t.” She trails her fingers through his hair and around the shell of his ear. “Maybe I foresaw this when I looked into the heart of the TARDIS. Maybe I saw that the only way to fix this is to make a copy of myself. You said my programme had something about Bad Wolf Directive.”

“We-we could outrun it with the TARDIS. Hide in the very last bit of space, as long as it takes. We'd be the last souls alive, you and me. Holding hands till the end.”

There are no words that could soothe him, this man who’d been running all his life. Instead, she brings her face closer to his and nudges his nose with hers before pressing a kiss against his lips. His mouth opens instantly, deepening the kiss, tongue gliding along her lip as he pulls her against his body. She slides her hands around to cup his head, holding him there. His fingertips pull at her shirt, press into her skin, and she can feel his body shaking as though he’s already fearing it'll be the last time they kiss. He makes a sound in the back of his throat before they part, and he’s gasping, a look of desperation on his face.

“I can’t let it—”

“Shh, Doctor.” She touches his lips with her fingertips. “’M still here. Let’s focus on that, yeah? Like you said, we’ll go see what your friend wants, and figure things out from there.”

The Doctor nods and kisses her again, quick and light this time, before grasping her hand and walking with her towards the exit. Just before he can reach for the handle, there’s a knock.

He looks at Rose, eyebrows raised with a tight smile. “Seems they were waiting.”

"You say that like it's a surprise.” She smiles, though her eyes are sad. She knows they heard the sound of the TARDIS and came running. “Even if we have to get on with our lives, Doctor, we'd always be waiting for that sound."

He closes his eyes briefly, and squeezes her hand. Without another word, he opens the door.

On the other side is none other than Mickey Smith.

Rose blinks away instant tears at the sight of him. “You—you’re here! How did you…”

Mickey takes a step back, tossing a questioning glance at the Doctor over Rose’s shoulder.

“Rosie!” Calls out another voice, and Rose laughs at the sound of it.

“And Jack! Oh, god!”

She rushes out of the doors and into Mickey’s arms first, giving him a huge hug, and then breaks away from him to fall against Jack’s chest as he pulls her in for an embrace, her legs swinging as he spins her around. Her heart swells to the size of a galaxy.

"Blimey, can’t believe it! Mickey, how’d you get here?”

Mickey gives her a funny look. "Oi, you don't remember? Too caught up in making plans with himself, must've been. I saw you two. Ought to have known. That other one in there, too? Don’t tell me you’ve been—”

"What? I dunno what you mean."

"Err, Mickey, this is Rose from  _before_  the stars went out." He slides his hand through his hair.

Mickey studies Rose, puzzled. "Are you saying you went back in time and picked up Rose from the past?"

“No, nothing like that. It’s… complicated.” The Doctor looks at Rose.

Rose is about to comment, when she looks over Mickey’s shoulder and spots a black woman standing there, her hair done in dreads and pulled back into a topknot. The woman is watching her with a mixture of awe and suspicion, but a bright smile breaks through as the Doctor wraps her in a crushing hug.

“Martha Jones!” The Doctor grins, giving her another squeeze, before letting go. "Heard you're in a spot of bother. Came as soon as I could."

"That's a way of putting it." Martha smiles at him.

Mickey squints at the Doctor and joins Martha’s side. “Thought I saw you not too long ago. We was fightin’ a Sontaran—”

“Yeah, about that… I was about to regenerate; went on a bit of a farewell tour.” He sniffs and fidgets with the controls on a piece of equipment nearby. “But before all that, I acquired a…box of sorts that had an advanced interface system. And then… well, let me just skip all the boring bits. Rose, before I dropped the other you off with my metacrisis self in the other universe, I dropped off this lot in this universe. Mickey decided to stay here, and if you ask me, I think it was on account of his fancying Doctor Jones over here.”

“Oi.” Mickey smirks. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

The Doctor grins at the pair. “And it was a lovely wedding.”

“So that banana  _was_ from you!” Mickey said with a laugh.

Martha furrows her brow. “Excuse me, mister, but you didn’t show up if I remember correctly.”

He sucks in a breath. “I wasn’t exactly in my right mind at the time. I, erm, watched you exchange vows from afar—and at the time I thought that’d be best. Wouldn’t’ve done it if I hadn’t been invited in the first place.”

Martha and Mickey both glance at Rose when the Doctor mentions not being in his right mind, and it puts Rose on edge. The conversation  _would_  steer back to her eventually.

“Something’s not quite adding up, Doc. I had always figured that you’d take Rose and her mother back in the parallel world, and because you can’t stand yourself on a good day and they were practically in each other’s laps on the TARDIS, you’d drop the other Doctor off there as well. Don’t tell me you found a way to steal her back from yourself.” Jack said with a bit of a scrutinizing smirk. "Didn't think you had it in ya."

The Doctor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. Jack, really... It wasn’t like that.” He looks to Rose, seeking permission to explain, and she nods her assent. But, just as she nods, she’s overcome with worry over how they’d take the story of her existence. Of all people, Mickey and Jack should still accept her as the Rose they once knew, shouldn’t they? They’ve seen the strange things she’s seen. They’ve known how mad and impossible the universe can be. She fidgets with her earring and averts her eyes as the Doctor begins to explain.

“There was a similar metacrisis event with Rose’s DNA when I was supposed to regenerate, and, well—long story short, there’s another Rose now, and she’s travelling with me.”

Martha smiles and gives the Doctor a light punch on the arm. “Told you there’s someone for everyone.”

“Mmm.” The Doctor rubs the back of his head sheepishly, and Rose can’t help but smile at the blush on his cheeks.

“So there are two Roses now? She part, what, Time Lord?” asks Martha. “Like the other you was part human?”

The Doctor opens his mouth to respond, but Rose intercepts, feeling braver.

“Part holographic interface for a sophisticated Time Lord super weapon, actually.” Rose tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and licks her lips. She glances at Mickey, measuring his reaction.

"Hologram? But you seem solid enough." Mickey scratches behind his ear.

"Time Lord hologram." Rose feels her heartbeat in her throat, and an errant thought enters her mind, a little wonder about how the other Doctor would deal with a situation like this. Her mum would’ve accepted him straight away—but would she? She shakes her head, scattering her thoughts.

"Ohh, Mickey. You don't know a good time till you've met a sentient, hard-light hologram. Dated one for a while. Could change genitals on a whi--"

"Stop it." The Doctor glares at Jack. "Seriously, we’re not here to discuss your Tinder conquests."

"How's Rose, then? The other one..." Mickey asks.

"She's doing well. Happy and safe." He swallows, and Rose watches his hand clench. She looks away.

The Doctor shoves his hands in his pockets. "Any further questions, or can we get down to business?"

“Just one—can I buy you a drink, Rose?” Jack says with a wink as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I’d love to hear more about your new wave of travels with the Doc.” He waggles his eyebrows knowingly.

“Can’t drink, part hologram.” She smiles, relaxing. “But, yeah. Love to catch up a bit.”

“Excellent!"

"After we sort out what's going on," Rose adds.

"Very good, at least someone has priorities,” the Doctor says as he walks towards Martha and Mickey. “So what’ve you got, Martha?”

"Right, so, this way.”

Martha leads them through a series of corridors to a lab, where she asks the technician there to pull up data on an array monitoring station. 

"Here. Didn't think anything of it at first, but then we superimposed it on this other dataset—yes, that one, thanks—and look."

The technician brings the two diagrams together, and the Doctor slides on his glasses. He leans forward, squinting at the screen.

"Universe is getting cooler. Well, that’s not unusual, but it’s faster than normal. Much faster."

"Right. But that's not all. There's ten Eddatsians in the medbay I've been tending to who say they're the only survivors of their race after a—get this—crack in space sucked in their planet. They were off world at an asteroid mining site, and were heading home when they saw it happen.”

Rose’s hand flies to her heart. “Doctor, that’s—How’d they end up all the way over here?”

“They likely honed in on the nearest inhabited, bio-equivalent planet and set themselves a course.” The Doctor says, rubbing his eyebrow.

Martha nods. “They were in stasis when their ship crashed. From the look of it, their system of origin is right in range of that cool spot. UNIT is on high alert, because that cool spot is relatively close to Earth.”

“Oh, they should be terrified.” The Doctor withdraws his sonic and aims it at the computer’s hard drive, then stuffs it back into his pocket. “But we’ll sort it before tea tomorrow. I’m gonna need to look through your tech vaults.”

“Of course, but, Doctor… what is it?”

Martha’s question hangs in the air as everyone waits for the Doctor to respond.

He stands and folds his glasses, sliding them back into his coat pocket. "A wound in the multiverse that's growing at an exponential rate. The TARDIS didn't pick up on it because it's not there, so the fact that you managed to find out by chance is brilliant, quite frankly. You look confused."

"You said it's not there."

"Oh, it isn't. It's between everything, and in nothing. Popped up because two timelines aren't quite getting along—and that would appear to be my fault, but I don’t want to get into it." The Doctor pulls out his sonic again and reaches for Rose’s hand. He places it in her palm.

Rose looks down, and his hand is unusually cold as he closes her fingers over the silver device. “What’s this for?”

“Go enjoy yourself with friends. This might take a while.”

“Don’t… don’t you need my—” God, she sounds so meek.

He turns and motions to Martha. “Could use your help, Doctor Jones.”

Martha looks between the Doctor and Rose, brows drawn together in concern. She hesitates for a moment, but motions for the Doctor to follow. “Right, this way.” She walks by Mickey, who gently grabs her arm and whispers something in her ear. She then nods, and gives him a kiss on the cheek before leading the Doctor away.

Rose worries her lip as she sticks the sonic into the back pocket of her shorts. He’s just hyperfocused on how to close the rift, that’s all. Right? He’s not… not sending her away again? No, he wouldn’t leave without his sonic. (Though he probably has a spare). She sighs, and looks up in time to see his coat swish as he turns a corner.

Jack gives the hallway where they’d gone a disapproving glance, then turns to Rose. “Come on, there’s a pub right at the corner. We won’t keep you long.”

Rose nods and glances at the TARDIS.

“Told Martha to make sure he doesn’t leave without you.” Mickey slings an arm around her shoulder. “Now come fill us in over a pint.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” She forces a smile, and they head for the nearest lift.

They arrive at the pub, and settle into a corner booth. A waitress takes their order, and they sit in an awkward silence until two pints and a basket of chips are placed at their table.

“That’s rude, that’s what that is.” Rose says with a wry grin.

Mickey, who sat next to her, takes a slow bite of a chip and she playfully punches his arm.

“Oi! Still got a mean left hook, I see.”

“Yeah, so stop it, would ya?”

Jack chuckles at them as he takes a long pull of his pint. He settles back in the booth, draping an arm over the empty seat next to him.

And that’s when the questions start.

 _How did you become a hologram? What happened to the other Rose? How are you able to leave the TARDIS? What_   _’ll that rift do, anyway? So there_   _’s three of him now? He brought back Gallifrey?!_

 _Are you and him—_?

She answers each one, though the last she leaves hanging as she traces a whorl in the wooden tabletop. Yeah, they're together as they've ever been, but she's not sure if that's gonna be true anymore if he goes off without her.

She turns the subject away from herself and asks about Mickey's wedding, feeling sad that she missed it. Jack remains oddly quiet, preferring not to talk much about himself. Rose is in the middle of listening to Mickey recant the story of how he and Martha started working together on freelance missions, when the very subject arrives at their table.

“Martha?” Mickey and Jack say together, equally as surprised.

"Need to talk to Rose a bit, if you boys don't mind. Go help the Doctor, he's on the TARDIS now."

They grumble and stand; Jack leaves a few notes on the table.

Rose stands. "I'm going also. Tell me on the way.”

"Rose, he's not going to leave without you. He can't. UNIT won't give him clearance to use its hologram interface relay for you."

"So he tried." Rose can’t look at Martha, and instead watches as Mickey and Jack exit the pub.

"Rose, you know why he would."

She doesn't say anything as she slowly sits.

Martha sits across from her and takes a chip, but puts it down on a napkin after giving Rose a glance. "He spent the whole time trying to find a way to close this rift by himself, but there's no way around it. He’s as stubborn as ever, and won’t admit what needs to be done.”

Rose laughs a bit while shaking her head. "That’s a surprise. ’Kay, so... What've you found so far?"

"He's testing a theory now in the TARDIS, but he thinks there's a way to lock on the void stuff in the vicinity of the rift with a singularity. Problem is getting it to only attract those particles from both timelines, and then send it all back into the rift."

Rose's heart stops. “’Scuse me, did you say,  _void stuff_?”

Martha nods. “Yeah. Thinks he can create a singularity canon and use those meteorites as bullets to fire the singularity at the rift. Sorta like how injectable medications need to be in solution or they won’t be absorbed. Needs to be timed just right, ‘cause things’ll start getting sucked into the black hole as soon as it’s fired from the gun. But it should keep hurtling towards the rift, and once inside…”

Rose hears Martha’s words, but she doesn’t quite absorb them. Instead, she’s back at Canary Wharf, gripping a lever with all of her might, her body being pulled towards the void. Her hair whipping around, Doctor’s screams for her to hold on just barely reaching over the pitch of the howling wind. She squeezes her eyes shut, envisioning herself holding onto that lever and never letting go, wondering if there was a universe out there somewhere, a timeline, where she could’ve held on.

She feels a hand on her forearm.

"Hey, you all right?"

Rose blinks and looks up, Martha’s concerned face swimming into view as the vision dissipates.

“Yeah. ‘M good. S-so… how the hell do we create a black hole?”

 


	13. The End of That Sentence

The Doctor stands on the hovering platform in Observatory III as the rift glares at him across the distance of virtual space. He instructed the program remove the wreckage and planetary debris from the simulation so he could focus solely on the rift, and somehow that makes it appear even more threatening.

He brings the rift simulation closer to the platform so that it undulates right by him, close enough to reach out and touch. Its brightness is both painful and blinding, but he forces himself to study its lacerated edges where the Time Wraiths writhe. His stomach churns, and he feels acid at the back of his throat at the sight of them. There was a time he had hated his people, had wanted nothing more than to run as far away as possible from them, to never be associated with their relentless pursuit of deification. They’d aspired to be the most powerful, the most intelligent species that had ever existed, but they were no better than the Daleks in the end. 

Now, looking on the ghostly remains of tortured Time Lords made him regret… well, so many things. Nothing deserved such a fate, not even them. The wraiths themselves had probably been at peace, finally free of the torture of living as pure regeneration energy, before he brought back Gallifrey. How they ever managed to work their way through the timelines was a mystery to him. They should’ve remained locked away at least, but he had no idea what sort of misadventures his next self would encounter. Something significant, for certain. Something that put his entire timeline at risk.

And once more, Rose’s life—her existence—was in danger. It hurt more than ever, the thought of her having to sacrifice herself for, well… for everything. For him. There had to be another way. There  _had_ to be. But he’d exhausted all other options. Even the simplest solution—a remote launching mechanism—wouldn’t work. There were too many variables, too many possibilities for error or malfunction. It had to be done manually, and Rose as Bad Wolf had foreseen all of this—had taken it upon herself to ensure she could do something about it, even. What impossible lengths she’d gone through to create a metacrisis event for the sole purpose of protecting all of existence. Had she realised, in that brief stint as a goddess, that by creating herself, as she’d put it, she could’ve also been destroying herself?

Growling under his breath, he aims his sonic over his shoulder, and pushes the rift simulation away from the platform so it’s about as far away as it had been when they’d visited with the TARDIS. A couple million kilometers, give or take. The probe would need to be released to a position much closer so that Rose could—

He flinches as the spectre of Rose drifting towards the rift from their visit flashes in his mind. He breathes through his nose, trying to divert himself from imagining what might go wrong to cause that to happen. The urge to scream bubbles up inside, makes his fist clench around his sonic so the metal bites into his palm. Before he succumbs, he shifts his mental focus, instead envisioning the trajectory equations so that he can discern the optimal distance. It should bother him how easy it is to compartmentalize such things. Instead, he just feels hollow.

He aims his sonic back at the panel by the door across the distance to add a relay probe to the simulation, and catches sight of Rose standing there at the ledge.

“Rose,” he says, voice heavy, eyes transfixed on her blank expression. She shouldn’t be here. She should go away, let him do this alone. But his chest aches with the need for her to stay, and he can’t bring himself to send her off. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Teleported. Jack and Mickey said you were in here.”

“Ah.”

“Can I?” She motions towards him.

He nods once and swallows, looking back to the rift. She appears next to him, and he notices then that she's wearing the leather jacket and maroon shirt of the Rose he had left behind with his other self. His hearts grow heavy, and he glances down at his trainers. 

“Clothing hologram?”

“Yeah.” She folds her arms. “Let the TARDIS pick for me. Seems to think this is what I should wear when I’m serious. Feels a bit weird, like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes, though.”

“Mm.”

She steps forward, staring off at the rift. “What have you got so far? Martha said something about creating a black hole.”

“Erm, yes. I have that going right now; should be ready soon.”

“Glad you’ve figured everything out.” She turns to face him when he doesn’t respond. “So, you can just do that? Create a black hole? Pop it in the oven and wait for it to finish?”

“Well, it’s not quite the same thing as a naturally occurring black hole. It’s essentially a very small pocket universe with a gravitational pull so intense that it will act as one. The TARDIS can generate it as it does a separate bedroom, and then I have to carefully sever it from the TARDIS dimensional matrix. It’ll be encased in a specialized shield and inserted into one of the Gallifreyan meteorites. Very tiny, you see. Though, I suppose that’s relative. Meteorites will then be placed in a missile, and—”

“She said we’d need to fire it into the rift.”

He draws in a breath and slides a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Soon as the meteorites are expelled, the shield around the singularity will dissipate, and so everything within range will be sucked in as it hurtles directly into the rift, picking up momentum as it goes. I’ll attempt to calibrate it so that it especially attracts objects with, erm… void stuff, which should keep any nearby planets safe.”

Rose looks down at the mention of  _void stuff_. “’Kay, so, how will that close the rift?”

“That’s why it’ll be with the meteorites. They’ll become the core of this pocket dimension, and it should generate anti-time once the singularity is activated—Gallifrey was a special planet, Rose. Remember how I said there was only one in all of the multi-verse? Well, that’s why we need those meteorites at the core. The power generated from the singularity will disturb the meteorites at the sub-atomic level. Time will invert once it’s inside the rift, and then it should heal up nicely as though it never existed. Probably even resolve whatever issue caused it to happen in the first place.”

Rose’s face screws up in thought, and she fidgets with her earring—he notices she’s kept on the ones he made for her—as she works through everything he said. “But that sounds so easy. We’ve handled worse, yeah? All that stuff you worried about, about how we—” Her voice breaks and she lets out a heavy sigh. “How this timeline might no longer exist—what about that?”

“Still possible. That’s why I’m attempting to calibrate it so it attracts the void stuff particles, but that might not work at all. Probably won’t. Still not sure how the stones disappearing will affect things. Anyway, it’s all a gamble, but we’d at least save the other timeline.”

“Yeah, at least.”

He looks her over, and he can no longer keep his emotions and his thoughts separate. That overwhelming urge to just race away from all of this, to keep her with him  _until the universe dissolves_ , tears at him and he begins to reach for her hand. She turns to face him, and he swears he can still see the rift burning in her eyes. He lets his hand fall back to his side.

“You were gonna go by yourself and leave me here,” Rose says, and it’s not quite accusatory, more like an assessment. As though she expects it of him.

He doesn’t look away from her. He can’t. He deserves every ounce of scorn in her glare, but he feels justified this time. He felt justified every time. This is his responsibility, there’s no one else capable of dealing with such a catastrophe but him. No one else  _meant_  to.

“Yes. I was.”

She laughs, a mirthless, cold laugh, and shakes her head. “What were you going to do, power me down? Keep me stored at UNIT while you go off and risk your bloody life and then come and fetch me when it’s all over?” There’s a shift in her tone, now mocking. “What have you got in that data stick, Doctor? Oh, that’s just Rose. Gonna take her back to the TARDIS now that I’ve saved the multiverse. Should probably take off the bubble wrap before I set her back on the shelf while I’m at it.”

He clenches his jaw; his fingers curl into fists. “Rose, that’s—” He sighs through his nose. “It’s not fair for you to risk your life for something I did in another timeline. I don't even know what it was!”

“Let me decide that for myself! God.”

“But, I—”

“Don’t. You said Bad Wolf was in my programme. Well, now we know why. I created this.” She gestures to herself angrily. “Made a bloody stupid expendable hologram of myself so I could save the multiverse, and that’s what—that’s what I’m going to do. That’s  _it_! End of.”

“Rose you’re not—”

“Doctor, I love you. I love you so bloody much, I can’t—” She stops herself, looks away as tears fill her eyes. They make her eyes glossy, reflecting the silver-bright light of the rift. “I can’t stand the thought of you going out there alone, facing those wraith things by yourself. I know you. I know you think this is all on your shoulders, that it’s all your fault and you’ve got to be the one to stop it.” Her gaze shifts back to him just as she blinks away the tears. “But I told you. I said it years ago now: There’s me. I’m here. You’re not gonna face this alone. You’re  _not_.”

He closes his eyes as her words overtake him. She means it to be reassuring, like she does every time, but it has the opposite effect. It terrifies him how willing she is to risk her life for the universe—this ordinary  _human_  woman. Bugger the hologram nonsense. She’s Rose, a shop girl from south London who never sat for her A-levels and won bronze in under-sevens gymnastics, and he loves her. It terrifies him how much he loves her—that he’d risk the whole universe to be with her until the end.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he begins, barely above a whisper. “If I found another way to do it on my own… If I could prevent you from having to suffer, Is that so bad? Is it so horrible that I’d do whatever it took to keep you safe?” He sounds so pathetic to his own ears, and her narrowed eyes ensure that he feels pathetic, too.

“You don’t get to decide what it takes to keep me safe! How could you be so bloody thick!”

Her words hit him like thrown knives. He’s glaring at her now, encouraging her fury. The distance between them is eclipsed in his single stride, and he lowers his face mere inches from hers.

“All right. Suit yourself, Rose. How about this for a suicide mission: You’ll have to teleport to a relay probe, fire a highly specialized weapon containing a dangerous black hole into a catastrophic multiversal anomaly. You’ll be attacked almost immediately by Time Wraiths, which will invariably realize you are a programme and seek out the source, and thus will attack the TARDIS. You’ll have to teleport back into the TARDIS before the probe is also sucked into the rift, which could happen almost immediately, faster than your ability to teleport. D’you still want to do it, Rose?  _Do you_?”

She remains calm, her face relaxing, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. “My, ah… my main programme is aboard the TARDIS, so you can just monitor and as soon as I pull the trigger, you shut down the probe. That’ll reset me back here in the TARDIS.”

Of course nothing he said deters her. Like every time before. Why do they insist on dancing this dance over and over? Stuck on repeat they are. He’s given another chance and he’s cocking it up worse than ever before. Resigned to her will, he rubs his eyebrow with his index finger and sighs heavily.

“No, that won’t work. Too much of a delay.” He begins to pace, his entire body buzzing with anxiety. “I mean, yes, I’d keep an eye out and do just that if need be, but the chances I’d have time…” He kicks a pillow that’s in his path. It slides towards the edge of the platform and wedges between the base and the railing. Then he picks it up and puts it carefully back into place, because it’s one of his favourites.

“Right, so, if I have to teleport, how do I keep the cannon with me?”

Unbelievable. No—this is totally believable. This is Rose Tyler, and he really should get a grip. He stops pacing and shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing her with a calm expression that is so forced his teeth clench when he speaks. “I was just about to attempt a few ideas in the simulation for the probe and cannon, actually.” He relaxes slightly and rubs his jaw. “Not entirely sure.”

“What if I’m the cannon? Then you could just send the meteorite missile out with the probe.”

He snaps his fingers, a grin crossing his face, the spark of her idea so exciting that it almost manages to supplant his inner turmoil. “Rose, that’s… that’s brilliant!” And then he frowns, shaking his head. “But—wait, that’s also absurd. No, I’m not gonna let you turn your arm into a literal cannon, nope. I prefer your arm as an arm. It’s a lovely arm, haven’t I said?”

There’s the flicker of a smile on her face, just a touch of light in her eyes, and it makes his hearts swell with affection. He could never resist egging that on, but it fades almost as quickly as it had appeared, and he’s sure it makes him pout but he’d rather not acknowledge it.

Rose holds up her hand and her eyes go out of focus, her thoughts suddenly drawn inward. “Oh my god. I remember… There was a hurricane of light churning through space, eating everything that ever was.” Her voice grows soft and weary, and her eyes are as old as the universe. He stares, feeling trapped in her aura like he had on the—

“The game station,” she says, eerily finishing his thoughts. “It weren’t the end of the trail of bread crumbs. I left a few more, and I remembered them all when I saw that box on your ship. I knew I had to create me or all the people in all the worlds would perish.” She looks at him. “Even you. I saw your death and I couldn’t bear it.”

The Doctor swears her eyes are glowing, gold as embers. He’s so ruffled that he can’t speak even if he tries.

She shakes out of her trance and squares her shoulders. “You’re not stopping me, Doctor. If that’s the best way, then it’s what I’ll do. I’m meant to. I probably just need to download schematics or something, yeah? Then I can create it as part of my image like I did these clothes. Launch the probe, I’ll teleport over as soon as it’s in place. Load the missile in the gun, or cannon, or whatever, and fire away. If the Wraiths attack me, well, they didn’t attack Abreen’s ship right away. Didn’t attack her until she got too close and saw she was trying to mess with them. Place the probe close enough so they don’t mind it.”

Oh, she’s brilliant, his Rose. But this needs to be thought through to the last detail. “How is the cannon going to fire? You’ll need a massive amount of energy to pull that off. And even if— _even if_  you make it through all of that without causing yourself serious damage, once the rift begins to seal off, the probe might…  _you_  might go with it. You would be erased from having ever existed in this time. I might even disappear. This whole timeline might disappear.”

She draws in a shaky breath and stares off at the simulation of the rift. “At least if this timeline vanishes, we won’t know. I know I’m with you in some universe out there—the real me and you. I’ll pretend that’s my heaven, and it’s where I’m going when everything disappears.”

He reaches for her hand and studies it, sliding his thumb over her knuckles. “I’d like to argue that this you is also real, and whilst I can share your idea of heaven, I’m most certain that my hell is living a long life in a universe where you never existed. You’re not expendable. Not at all.”

She looks up at him, eyes warm and cheeks tinged with pink. Love radiates from her like the corona of a sun, and he basks in it, though he’s sure he isn’t worthy of it at all.

"Rose,” he begins, his voice soft. “Do you remember when we were here before?"

She glances down to their hands, her fingers sliding between his. “Yeah.”

"I showed you the nebula created from the explosion of the Moment. I, ah... discovered something about it after you left."

“What?” Her eyes cut up to his.

"When we met on Bad Wolf Bay long ago I mentioned that I burned up a sun so I could say… so I could send a projection through the last remaining crack between universes. It was that star. It had already gone super nova at that point, generating enough power so I could harness it for the projection. But, the Moment fixed an energy transferal paradox and enabled me to, you know… Just didn’t know it at the time.”

The tears return to her eyes, and she swallows, fingers flexing in his to hold onto him tighter. “O-oh?”

“Yeah.” He looks away from her briefly as his own emotions threaten to break him. He’s on the verge of groveling, of just falling to his knees and begging her not to do this, to let him puzzle out an alternative, but she was so strong. Strong for the universe. Strong for him. So, he’d be the same for her.

“I realise now that it’s a place where both timelines meet. A fixed point in the multiverse.”

“Always meant to happen."

He nods. The words are there on his tongue, a confession of love so compulsory that it startles him—his mouth had even opened to begin the sound of it, and so he redirects the syllables. Reorders the cadence. Now’s not a good time, so instead he goes with:

“You really want to do this.”

“No. I want  _us_  to do this. Together.”

He smiles, but he forces it away when her smile in return makes his eyes sting. A firm nod seats his emotions back in place, and he aims the sonic at the control panel by the door. All at once, the space around them fills with a near-exact replica simulation of the debris and wreckage field they’d encountered.

“We’ll need to practice. TARDIS couldn’t quite get an accurate scan of the ghost phenomena, so I had to implement it manually. Not quite the exact stuff, but close enough.”

Rose nods, observing her surroundings. “Got it.”

“Also, there’s no way to be sure how different things will be when we head back out there. Could be nothing like this.”

“S’okay. ‘M more worried about the black hole in my gun-arm part.” She smiles again, a big, toothy grin. “Better watch out, Doctor.”

He laughs and plays at being sucked into a black hole, waving his arms around and spinning. He looks like an idiot, but that’s why he does it, because it makes her roll her eyes and fall against him, arms sliding around his waist as she tacks on a pleased sigh at the end of her fit of giggles.

“Did you use up the entire thing?” She asks, cheek resting against his chest.

“The entire...? Oh, no. There was a bit of it left. The universe closed and… well.” He strokes her hair and closes his eyes. “Would’ve given me another good twenty minutes if it hadn’t.”

“Yeah? Think of all the things we could’ve said in twenty minutes. ” She laughs, arms tightening around him. “Could’ve, I dunno… not been cut off.”

He knows what she’s getting at, and he kisses her forehead. “Would it have caused you less pain?”

She’s quiet for a while, her head shifting to a better spot. Listening to his heart beats, he thinks.

“Your voice saying my name is all I heard for years. Was all I had of you there. No pictures, other than a few crappy ones from my mobile. Nothing else. I thought it might make it easier, but it wasn’t. Started to write down memories, anything I could think of—even the smallest thing, you know? I’d just write it down every night before I fell asleep. Sometimes I’d draw you…” She pauses, and sniffles. “Dunno why I’m saying all of this.”

He shifts so he can pull back a bit and gently lift her chin with his hand. It never really registered for him before how much of her he had with him even after she was gone. He had her room aboard the TARDIS filled with her things. He had pictures, recordings, vivid, full sensory memories locked in orbs in his music room. He had the Earth on which she lived, the streets she’d walked, the air she’d breathed.

He also had the end of that sentence. He had so much, and she had so little, and now he understood why it was so important for her to know. And so he tells her.

“I love you.”

Rose closes her eyes at the sound of it, her brows drawing together like she might burst into tears. He leans in and follows up his words with a kiss. She responds instantly, her lips parting as his tongue glides along hers. She shakes with a sob in his arms, and makes a sound at the back of her throat, a sound of joy and passion that spurs him on. He breaks the kiss.

“I love you.”

That time it’s against her lips in a whisper. She laughs as he peppers kisses across her cheek and neck, tasting salt along the way.

“I love you.”

And that time, it’s as his hand slides back through her soft hair, eyes locked with hers. She clutches at him, fingers curling into his suit, pulling him so their bodies press together. His hearts thrum in his chest as she smiles brighter than any sun.

“I know,” she says.

He beams at that, a small part of him sparking with pride that he’d called it long ago. Of course she knew. He withdraws his sonic, aims it at the control panel, and the rift simulation swirls out of sight. It’s then replaced by the whirling, yet sparse gasses of a fading nebula.

Rose glances over, watching it with her head resting on his shoulder.

“This is what’s left of it. Just a drifting nebula—our twenty minutes of…I dunno,” he says, and then looks down at her, at how the colorful light catches in the strands of her hair. He sighs wistfully.

“Our eight minutes of twaddle.”

The Doctor laughs. “Nah, it’s never twaddle when I’m talking to you.”

Rose grins up at him and playfully elbows him in the side. “Oh, shut up. I’m the one who couldn’t think of what to say.”

He makes a pleased humming sound, but his smile falls short as he studies the errant wisps of glowing gas once more. “It’s just going to spread outward forever till it’s gone. Well, not gone-gone. Just not all here.”

“S’a bit sad, don’t you reckon?”

“A bit.” He blinks, posture straightening as an idea strikes him. His eyebrows raise up to his hairline as he grins, pointing excitedly at the nebula.  “No!”

She bites her lip, arching an eyerbrow at him.

“Shh, listen. Rose, do you know what this means?”

Rose smiles, looks at the nebula and back at him. “Don’t know, but I bet you’re gonna tell me.”

“Oh, yes. It’s  _fuel_! It’s just enough, the perfect amount for what we need. A catalyst to fire your cannon augmentation and to open the singularity!” He spins and aims the sonic at the panel to return the platform to the entrance balcony. As they step off, he turns to her, awe in his voice. “Incredible. You saw all of this.”

“Had a bit of help, from what I can remember.” She looks over as she places her hand on the coral section of the wall by the observatory exit.

The TARDIS hums a soft reply, and the Doctor feels a reassuring vibration flow over his mind.

“Time for a pit-stop, then?” Rose looks over at him.

“Yup!” He pops the p, and grasps her hand as they exit Observatory III and race with laughter back to the console room.

Mickey and Jack look up from their shared task as the Doctor and Rose rush in giggling.

Just as the Doctor had requested of them, they’re working with the components he’d scrounged up—both from his workshop and from UNIT’s storage—for the relay probe, the hull of which sits in a makeshift cradle by the jump seat.

Mickey shakes his head and resumes rewiring the power panel. “Oi, glad you two made up.”

Jack grins as he pushes up his goggles, a smudge of grease on his chin. “Or made out.”

The Doctor releases Rose’s hand, and bounds up to the console. He begins punching, twisting, cranking the necessary dials and levers to set a course, steadfastly ignoring either comment.

“A bit of both. You know.” Rose teases as she saunters up beside the Doctor. She leans an elbow on the console, watching him work with a coy smile that probably suggests to Jack that they’d done far more than they really had.

“I knew it.” Jack laughed and went back to building the hinged latch that Rose would open to retrieve the missile.

“Aaaanywaay… We have quite a lot of work ahead of us and not much time to spare. Where’s Martha?” The Doctor flicks one final toggle and all that’s left to send them back to the Moment nebula is to start the dematerialisation sequence.

“Went to check on the Eddatsians. Should be back any minute,” Mickey answers.

“Speaking of those guys, think we’ll be able to get their planet back?” asks Jack.

“I’ve no idea.”

“That’s what we hope,” Rose says, glancing towards the Doctor. “This’ll sever the timelines and everything will just pop back into place. S’why it’s a good thing you’re here. There could be people out there in ships and things. People like Trese.”

The Doctor turns to inspect their handiwork with the probe, giving an approving nod as he does. “Very nice work. Though—if you don’t mind…” He reaches between Jack and Mickey and begins tinkering around, reworking a couple bits. “There.”

“Ahhh, good catch.” Jack says, winking at Mickey who’d rolled his eyes.

A few moments later, Martha pops into the TARDIS and rushes up the ramp towards the probe. “How’s it coming along? Finished yet?”

“Just about,” Mickey replies.

Martha looks between the Doctor and Rose. “You all right?”

Rose nods with a smile. “Brilliant.”

“So, erm…” The Doctor tugs at his ear. “You lot up for a bit of a round trip?”

“Ooh, you mean you’re gonna take us losers along?” Mickey grins as he sets back to work.

“Well, don’t see as I have any choice at the moment.”

Martha scoffs. “Don’t act like that; you love that we’re all together again. I can see right through you, mister.”

The Doctor manages a tight smile. Of course he’s pleased to see them again, but not quite under the circumstances. It was all rather  _odd_ , really, being amongst them once again after essentially bidding farewell. He glances up at the chameleon arch, and wonders... if he just had the time, he could’ve possibly used it to heal Donna. Make her fully human again. Maybe if all of this works out according to plan, he could do just that. Would she want to, though, if she had no idea? He sighs as guilt drops into his stomach like a heavy stone.

“Feels a bit like a second chance,” he says in the end, without much enthusiasm, and throws the lever to send the TARDIS into the time stream.

From there on, it’s business and nothing but. Rose heads back to the observatory to practise with the simulation as he collects the remaining gasses from the Moment nebula. Once the traces are stored away, he returns to Earth’s orbit so that Rose can practise her teleportation and cannon-firing in actual space.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long to find the schematics in the TARDIS weapon’s database for a compact interstellar cannon capable of firing a long-range missile with the power collected from the nebula. The Doctor helps Rose imbue her programme with the schematics, whilst Mickey and Jack finish up the probe. 

Once the relay probe is functioning, they send it out for Rose to work on teleporting. It’s the distance that she keeps missing at first—short of the probe itself, but still within its projection range. Timing is everything; she has to teleport as close to it as possible. It’s a rather long distance, one that the digital side of her seems to comprehend, but not so much the human side. The Doctor does his best to encourage her, and when at last she makes it, they celebrate with a kiss. In front of everyone. Certainly not his plan, but it was spontaneous, and perhaps he should just get used to such things.

Needless to say, the others make a big deal of it. A massive, ridiculous deal, like they’ve been watching a film and the main characters finally,  _finally_ get together. Maybe they aren’t too far off, he thinks.

But there’s (thankfully) very little time to needle and tease. Rose sets off to practise opening the probe repository and removing the mock missile and mock propulsion device. Loading both into her cannon and firing—takes a bit of time to get used to the coordination and sensation of explosives propelling out of her holographic matrix, but his Rose is stubborn. Keeps at it till its second nature.

At last, Martha gets tired of the Doctor hovering around and insists that he go sort out the singularity. She’s right, of course. But he has to ensure that Rose is off to a good start, not that he had any reason to think she wouldn’t have been. Extracting the singularity dimension will take surgical precision, and he’d just rather not have anything worrying him at the time.

Mercifully, extracting the singularity and shielding it proves successful, and after inserting it into one of the Gallifreyan stones and placing the stones into the small missile, he heads back out to the console room.

Rose and Martha are sitting together at the doorway, their feet dangling out in space. The probe had been brought back into the console room, where Mickey was currently working on a modification to its hull. The Doctor tilts his head as he watches Martha sling her arm around Rose and rub her back in a reassuring gesture.

“She’s having trouble gettin' the timing right on teleporting back,” Mickey says, reaching for a spanner. “Taking it hard.”

The Doctor frowns and hands the missile and propulsion kit to Jack. “Get this set up. We’ve got to get a move on.”

“You bet,” says Jack with a salute.

“Yes, boss.”

The Doctor heads over to Rose and Martha, staying back a bit as they finish their conversation. It’s always a strange thing when his companions encounter each other. He’s never quite sure if they’ll get on, though they probably have more in common than not.

“You’re so close. Under a second—that’s your best yet,” Martha says, eyes full of concern.

“S’not… Yeah, I need to be quicker, but it’s just—” Rose sighs. “S’pose I make it. The thought of all this disappearing? Not knowing if both timelines’ll be able to exist, you know?”

“Yeah.” Martha looks out towards the moon as it rises over the horizon of Earth. “The Doctor really has no idea?”

“No,” the Doctor says. They both turn to look up at him. “Ehm… sorry. Didn’t mean to eaves drop.”

Rose pulls up to her feet. “S’it time?”

He nods. “Gonna drop everyone off first.”

“Oi, I don’t think so,” Martha says, folding her arms.

“You’ve all been a great help, but there’s really no need—”

“We’re coming,” Mickey says from behind. “Thought you’d’ve figured that out by now. Right, babe?”

Martha gives a firm nod. “Yep.”

Rose chews on her lip, eyes darting from one person to the other.

The Doctor sighs and pulls the TARDIS door shut, then storms back up to the console. Jack is leaning back against the coral strut nearby, arms folded. The Doctor does his best to avoid making eye contact with him, but the captain’s scrutinizing expression draws him in.

“ _What_?” the Doctor snaps.

“Just making sure you know we’re serious. This is our universe too, you know. Also, supporting Rose has always been a personal top priority.” He smiles, all teeth, and winks at Rose from across the room.

The Doctor bristles, old jealousies threatening to surface. A long time has passed since he skulked around in leather and a scowl, but it’s still part of him deep down. He jerks a lever a little too roughly and looks over to Rose as she joins his side.

“Y’hear that, Doctor?” She says, smiling.

“Yes, fine. They can come along.” He begins the dematerialisation sequence and begrudgingly relaxes as Rose wraps her arms around him in a thankful embrace.

 

They return to the rift, and even from the viewscreen the Doctor can tell that it’s gotten larger. Much larger, and rounder—the space around it now corroded and deteriorating like flesh around a rotting wound. The debris field is thicker, more erratic, and the TARDIS groans in protest as the Doctor tries to guide her as close as possible.

Once in place, the interior console lights take on a dim, ruddy glow, and the soft, undulating hum has gone off-key, more erratic. Far less soothing. The Doctor places a reassuring hand on the central column, and looks around at his fellow passengers.

Jack’s back to leaning against the coral strut nearby, his expression unreadable. Mickey and Martha reach for each other’s hands as they look up, sensing the time ship’s disquiet.

Rose is already heading for the door.

The Doctor rushes to catch up with her, and opens the doors to reveal the horror outside. The rift itself has taken on the shape of a colossal spiral. A hurricane of light, as Rose had put it. Time Wraiths skate along thin fissures that splinter off from its tendrils. They gnaw away at the universe, hungrier than ever.

Rose is quiet as she stares down the rift, cannon in place under the hook of her arm. He can’t quite get a read on her state of mind—she looks vacant, almost bored.

“Rate of deterioration is increasing exponentially. More so than I calculated for your practice run.”

“Looks like it.”

The Doctor turns to her suddenly and grasps her in his arms. He burrows his face against her neck, breathing in, and holds her to him with all of his might. Her arms tighten around him, and they linger like that in silence. There’s not a single word or phrase in any language that could possibly mean more than the feel of her in his arms, and although he hates it, he realises he’s committing it to memory. The exact pressure, the rate of her breathing, the sweet, fresh scent of her hair and the salty tang of her skin, the way she’s trembling as she tries so hard not to cry. Because she’s scared. He’s scared. And it’s time.

They part at the same moment, and he cradles her face in his hands, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. The look of love and strength in her eyes will keep his hearts beating for centuries to come, and he leans forward to kiss her.

But she ducks away before his lips connect, and withdraws her arms from around him, leaving him bereft and hollow.

“Feels too much like you’re kissing me goodbye.” She adjusts the cannon around her arm, and reaches out to rub her hands down his biceps, smoothing out his jacket. She gives his forearms a squeeze before folding her arms around herself.

The Doctor nods. Understanding.

"Oh, here." She takes off her earrings, the ones that dampen her psychic field, and places them in his open palm.

His eyes flutter closed briefly and he puts them in his pocket.

She takes a deep breath. “Let’s do this, yeah? I don’t think I can stand it anymore.” The fear is back in her eyes, right at the edge of the glare she casts out to the rift.

He nods and heads back to the console where the relay probe had been resting in its cradle. Mickey helps him carry it to the doorway, and once there, he flicks the activation switch on its side. Rose’s appearance garbles once it’s activated. She gasps and backs away until she’s in the shadow of the coral strut.

“Sorry, feedback.”

The Doctor and Mickey sidestep toward the doorway with the probe, the tips of his trainer and Mickey’s boot hanging off the edge. The probe’s signal light blinks in a steady pattern, and that’s when he knows it’s ready. With a deep breath, they release the probe and watch it drift out into space.

The Doctor then rushes back to the console so he can steer the probe remotely toward its position. There’s a bit of a panic as he loses control of it for a moment, but it exits the interfering radiation cloud and he’s able to guide it into position without a further hitch. It takes a couple of minutes, and once it’s there, he moves the TARDIS further away.

“There we go. All set. Are you ready?” He looks at Rose across the room, unblinking.

Rose nods after giving Mickey and Jack a hug in turn.  “All right, chin up! Be on the lookout for people who need help once the timelines are sorted.”

Mickey smiles at her. “You got it, Rose.”

“I’ll get the medbay prepared, Doctor,” Martha says.

He nods at her, hating the doubt that lurches in his stomach, and she dashes off down the corridor. His gaze falls once more on Rose, and he tries his hardest to ignore the disarray of timelines that sizzle around this moment.

She secures the cannon around her shoulder and lifts her chin. “See you in a bit, Doctor.”

He smiles, her confidence igniting his own. “I’ll put a kettle on.”

She smiles, gives him a little wave, and disappears.

 


	14. Over Before Tea

Rose appears in mid-space, and dread drops like an iron ball through her stomach. She missed. The probe hovers several metres away from her, caught in a current that’s dragging it (and herself) straight towards the rift. There’s no time for self-deprecation, no matter how angry and terrified she feels. She instead channels those emotions into action, kicking her legs and pulling her arms, anything to get closer.

But that proves futile, so obviously futile.  _Stupid, Rose! You’re in Space!_ She stills and looks around for something that she could rappel against.

Phantoms of lost ships and errant comets funneling towards the rift cycle all around her, demonstrating her possible fate. It’s like the rift has come alive, taunting, intent on squelching the last shred of hope that remains. Movement off to the side catches her attention, and she looks in time to see an enormous rocket booster speeding towards her. She screams, soundless, and instinctually begins to flail as though she’s drowning.

Teleporting from one place to another in space hadn’t worked out so well during practise runs, too much risk of her atoms not pulling together where they should, but she has no choice now. Ahead, the probe continues to drift towards the rift. Behind, the people she loves are counting on her, and she can’t fail them. She  _won’t._ Squeezing her eyes closed, she concentrates. Focuses on keeping her body and the cannon intact as her every particle disperses and reforms, miraculously, right on top of the probe. Relieved, she watches the rocket booster fling past where she’d been just seconds before. It continues on a wild spin towards the rift.

But there’s no time to rest. She can feel the time ticking by in her soul, and knows it’s running thin with every second she’s delayed. The hatch opens and she’s able to load the missile and fuel kit into the cannon, shuddering slightly at how odd it feels. If she can conjure such an intricate weapon with her form, why can’t she eat? Why can’t she—

Stop.  _Focus_. She grits her teeth and aims the cannon at the rift. There’s a radiation storm boiling to her right, with flashes like lightning getting closer. To her left is a planet apparition, out of harm’s way yet no less terrifying in its immensity. The rift draws nearer and nearer, and somewhere in the back of her mind she realises she’s going to be too far away from the TARDIS to teleport back.

It’s almost enough to break her. Something small hovers out of the corner of her eye. Her own tears floating out into space. She blinks hard, brows pressing together as she takes in a hitching breath.

But… there’s no air to inhale. Her lungs would’ve imploded—but she hasn’t got lungs. She’s a hologram. Breath is a simulation, part of her programming. Same for her tears, and her wildly beating heart. This truth once horrified her, and now it will save the multiverse.

_All right, Rose, you can do this._

She fires the cannon. As the missile ejects, her body is wracked with searing bursts of light. Recoiling, she stares in horror as her flesh begins to corrode, transparent circuitry shining in growing patches through the illusion of skin, just like before when she’d teleported into the heart of the TARDIS. The cannon splinters into sparks and vanishes as her programme redirects energy to keep her body intact.

The missile detonates seconds later, exploding outward in oddly shaped plumes of energy, and then collapses in on itself within the span of a second. The debris and wreckage surrounding her, even the radiation storm, races towards the resulting black hole at astonishing speeds. But instead of it all being sucked inside, like she’d envisioned, it slows once it reaches orbit, and just sticks there. Swirling around the singularity like bizarre satellites as the singularity itself rips its way through space directly towards the rift.

Rose clings to the relay probe and watches, unable to do anything else at all. She can feel herself fading as her distance from the TARDIS increases. The relay probe is powerful, but not as powerful as the TARDIS. Once the probe drifts far enough away, it’ll lose connection, and she’ll be gone.

She looks down at her arms, now bright and naked. The clothing simulation dissipated like the cannon had moments before. Her skin is also nearly gone, and all that’s left beneath is the circuitry, winding through tiny pinpoints of light. Movement ahead catches her eye. Thousands of Time Wraiths swim away from the rift towards the singularity to form a lattice with their bodies, an attempt to stop or slow its progress.

The singularity pushes past them with ease, and they too become trapped in its orbit. Some of the wraiths that hadn’t been affected redirect their efforts, darting off to somewhere behind her.

Rose closes her eyes as a surge of fatigue hits her. For a brief, blissful moment, everything is quiet and calm. When she opens her eyes, it takes her a moment to remember where she is. The rift then draws her attention. It all seems so far away now, like a dream, despite being so close. And it’s beautiful. Wild light dancing across the arc of space. Her hair floats into her face and it’s glowing like the rift, obstructing her view. She pushes it out of the way in time to see the singularity crest the horizon of the rift, sending waves of violet and pink energy curling outward like petals of a flower.

Rose smiles, feeling peaceful. It’s strange, but she doesn’t question it. Doesn’t want to. She just wants to swim in the sensation forever. Her eyes are too heavy to keep open, and her hands are too weak to hold on to the probe. They slip free, and she thinks of the Doctor, imagines the feel of him holding her, can even hear the beat of his hearts. She thinks she even hears the sound of the TARDIS as a breeze flows over her body. She then slips away.

 

For a long time, there’s nothing.

And then, after an undeterminable breadth of silence, the steady thrum of a heartbeat rouses her. The heartbeat isn’t her own, but it resonates through her every atom with each pulse. She feels expansive, and light as air, as though she’s stretched out and part of everything in existence.

As that sensation fades, a pervasive ache sets in. It creeps into every muscle and joint, making her wince. Her mind scrambles to make sense of it—had she fallen down the stairs at her flat? Was she hit by a car?

“Hey, can you hear me?”

Clear as a bell. Her face turns towards the familiar voice of its own volition. There’s a light pressure on her arm—a touch—and she feels something tickle her cheek. The musky scent of damp soil fills her nostrils, and the burbling sound of a stream meets her ears. Where the hell is she?

“Oh, thank God. About time.”

It’s her own voice, she realises, but she’s sure she never spoke. Her eyes flutter open, and at first all she can see is a haze of dappled light and colour. Green, mostly. She blinks, and her vision clears.

Her hands flex, feeling the spongy moss beneath her. Ferns curve over her body like little protective wings. She stares past them up to a canopy of trees and the familiarity of her surroundings startles her. The Heart of the TARDIS. A face hovers into view, her own, but a bit older.

“You all right, mate?” The older Rose asks, her mouth twisting a bit. “Bit daft calling myself mate.”

“Yeah.” Rose blinks again, her surroundings now sharp. She cringes at the brief sight of her arm, and turns to her side so she can push herself up to sitting.  “M’okay, bit sore. I look like hell, don’t I?”

“A bit, yeah.” The older Rose gives her a nudge, helping her up.

“Thanks. What the hell happened?”

Rose leans forward to view her reflection in the nearby stream. Some of the skin simulation has returned, but that only makes her look worse. All blotchy and half eaten away like a digital zombie. She shudders and scoots back farther on the bank, but she can’t seem to turn her eyes away from her hands. Something about them… Little dots of light gleam through the tiny, transparent, vein-like branches through her arm and down to her fingertips. It’s a very different construction than before, when she simply looked like a luminous circuit board. Now, seems a bit more—dunno— _real._

“You were out for a long time, just lying there,” the older Rose says. “Was afraid of you getting worse the longer you lay there, like before, but seems the opposite is happening.”

Rose glances up at her, and then over her shoulder to the immense, central tree that towers over the rest. “I did it… it worked,” she whispers, memories of her struggle with the probe and the cannon flashing in her mind.

“What worked?”

Reeling from the influx of memories, she presses her fingers against her forehead and winces. “There was this rift.” She takes a breath as a surge of energy pulses through her. Once it passes, she sees a few patches of exposed circuits have healed over with a skin simulation. “S-sorry, um… a rift in the multiverse. Just… destroying everything in existence. I-I destroyed it. I mean, I had to’ve. Else we wouldn’t be here.”

“Ah, yeah. So, that’s what it was...” The older Rose bites her lip, and for the first time Rose notices the weariness in her eyes.

“You saw it too?”

“Yeah. Got rather acquainted.” She stands and heads over to the central tree nearby, stepping over roots in her path. “We, ah, we went to this planet after detecting a distress signal in the time stream. Tried to land, but it was rough. Something was interfering with the controls; made us crash. TARDIS was badly damaged and everything.”

Rose worries her bottom lip, and stands as she listens.

The older Rose fidgets with a lock of hair that had caught on her earring. “We went to a nearby town since we needed parts for repairs. People kept pointing up at something really odd in the sky. This strange aurora that had ‘em in just a state—lots of prophecy about the end of the world. They said it appeared one day and kept getting bigger, kept releasing energy that’d flare across the atmosphere. People were getting sick. Electronics malfunctioning. Plants dying. Crazy weather.”

“Blimey.”

“Yeah.” She breathes a heavy sigh. “So, we stayed for a bit so I could ask around, and he could run tests. Finish repairs, that sorta thing. The auroras kept interfering with the TARDIS—she’s, ah, still got some kinks to work out. Anyway, after a few days he fixed most of the damage from the crash, and we flew up manually so we could orbit and monitor things more closely. That’s about where everything went wrong. TARDIS started shaking. Alarms going off. The Doctor said…” She furrows her brow, works her jaw.

After a stretch of silence, Rose prompts, “Yeah? Go on, what did he say?”

“That there was a time rift anomaly ahead, and the planet was being pulled in.” She bit her lip and shrugged a shoulder, not out of indifference, but helplessness. “Nothing we could do.”

Rose’s eyes widen, heart in her throat. She moves towards the tree and her legs wobble, nearly giving out.

The older Rose reaches out to steady her. “All right?”

“Ta, yeah. Guess I still need a bit of rest.” Rose reaches the tree and leans against it, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “Was that the last thing you remember before I—before we came here?”

The other Rose mirrors her posture. “No. We tried to, uh, dematerialize away from the area, but couldn’t. Had us caught in all dimensions, and part of the dimensional separator—I think he called it—was still damaged, so we couldn’t move, not really. Last thing I remember is just…chaos.” She places her palm against the trunk of the tree and stares at her fingers.

“But I must’ve closed it, the rift. We’re here, yeah? They’re all okay, the whole planet. Our Doctors, everything.”

Rose smiles and places a reassuring hand on her other self’s hand against the tree bark. The cadence of the ubiquitous heartbeat becomes more pronounced at their combined touch, and her own heart slows to match it.

A vision then flashes in her mind of a dark room—her old flat in Pete’s world—the sound of weeping heard beneath a tousled comforter. It’s an odd sort of thing to hear herself crying, and her heart clenches at the sound of it.  There’s a knock at the door. It’s the Doctor, asking to come in. She lets him, and he slides into bed with her, whispering.  _Oh, Rose. I’m so sorry. Shh… I’m here; I’m here._  Arms slide around him, pulling him close into a desperate kiss. Rose has the urge to look away, and the vision changes.

Now, she sees the Doctor in a tuxedo and trainers, running, kicking up dandelion seeds in a meadow. Rose chasing after him with laughter and chiffon trailing in her wake. A discarded bouquet of wildflowers is picked up by little, grubby hands, and the sun sets just ahead, casting the world in a blush and honey glow.

The colors brighten, diluting the vision as it shifts to something new.

The Doctor is disheveled and gorgeous, grease smudges on his suit and chin, specs askew on his face, and hair sticking up wildly as he tinkers away in a workshop of sorts. Light glares in from a high window, and Rose sees herself walk into it, a playful smirk on her lips and a mug of tea in her hands. For him, she knows. There’s a tree of coral growing in the corner, and bits of tech are spread out around him. Rose sits against a small uncluttered area of the desk, which just so happens to be between the Doctor’s knees. He takes his mug and sets them both aside, giving her a smile that makes her insides warm.

The vision fades as Rose gently pulls her hand away. They stare at each other, bemused.

The other Rose then smiles, though her eyes remain sad. “I’ll never stop thinking about him. Wondering how he’s getting on. Why he never said goodbye, but I know I can stop worrying, ‘cos he has you.”

Rose can’t quite return the smile as she hears her Doctor in her mind, saying the same about this Rose. It’s been a while since she’s even entertained such thoughts. Does her Doctor harbour the same sort of feeling? Does he lie in bed at night wondering why he didn’t say goodbye? Eventually, she manages a smile at her older self.

“ _He’s_  probably worried right now. Both of ‘em.”

“Yeah.” The other Rose laughs a little.

“’M sorry. I think we’re stuck here a bit more.”

“S’okay. We’ve been here for a long time, actually. Days. I’ve gone out to explore a bit; tried to find a way to let the Doctor know I was okay, but there’s not much out there. I get to a certain distance and it’s like I’m reset. Find myself back here.”

“Sounds boring. Days?”

“Yeah.” The other Rose laughs. “Just a bit. Sleep at night and wander around during the day. ‘Least I don’t mind exploring.”

“Have you ever found that field again? The one we ended up in at first last time?”

“No. Every day I’ve been able to go a bit farther, so I’m not sure if that means anything, but—“

“You said your TARDIS was heavily damaged.”

“Right! That’s what I was gonna say. I think it’s tied together—you healing and our TARDIS healing. Don’t think you can till it’s sorted.”

“Mine might also be a bit damaged… wonder if that’s why I’m not deteriorating.” Rose looks down at herself, inspecting the progress of her restoration. Any second now, she expects it to reverse, just like it had the last time she was pulled here. She furrows her brow in thought. “Either way, if this is the joint heart of the TARDIS, there has to be a way to communicate with the console. Either of ‘em, yeah?” She squints as she surveys her surroundings. “The stream?”

“That’s what I thought also, but haven’t had any luck. Look like a nutter out here talking to trees and rocks.”

Rose laughs. “Nobody here but us at least.” She walks over to the stream, carefully stepping over prominent roots, and kneels by its bank. Her muscles ache in protest, but it’s a sensation she welcomes. She can’t remember her new body simulating things to such a precise degree before—twinges in muscles she didn’t even realize she had.

The other Rose joins her, sitting cross-legged at the bank. “See there?” She points to a section of the stream nearby that is almost circled off by the placement of stones. “Looks like the most conspicuous spot to me. But, nothing.”

Rose lowers beside her older self. She stares down into the clear water, watching a small crayfish trawl along on the bottom. She reaches out and touches the surface of the water, causing ripples, and the crayfish darts between the nearest pair of rocks.

“He’s always there, that little guy. Seems to be the only thing here, other than the wolf.” The other Rose reaches out and touches the surface, swirling her finger around.

“The wolf?”

“Yeah, hear it howl—”

A light flickers across the surface of the water, emanating from their fingertips.

The older Rose gasps. “Did you see that?”

A rush of excitement fills Rose’s chest. “Yeah! Needs us both. Get your hands in!”

The other Rose dips her other hand into the water. “Oi! Doctor? Do you see us?”

“Doctor!” calls Rose, hope flaring in her heart.

Light continues to swirl from their fingertips until it covers the surface, and resembles a static-laden viewscreen. The Doctor is there—a slightly older Doctor, with strands of grey in his hair and deeper crinkles spreading from his eyes. His tongue is wedged between his teeth in concentration, and a deep worry line forms between his brows. Several rivulets of sweat shine on his face, and his jacket is discarded on the jump seat behind him. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and the first button of his oxford is undone. Rose knows instantly that this isn't her Time Lord Doctor, but she's relieved all the same.

“Doctor!” Both Roses cry in unison.

He looks up, mouth dropping open. “Ro-Rose? ROSE! And…” He tilts his head, squinting. “Rose?”

“Hello,” the older Rose says, smiling at him. “We’re back in the Heart—remember how I told you about it the last time?”

The Doctor nods emphatically, a strand of his hair bouncing over his forehead. “I thought that’s where you might be!” The dark circles under his eyes are made less pronounced by a broad smile.

“Of course you would.” She smiles, her posture relaxing.

He tugs at his ear. “Well, the first few days were a bit foggy on account of the sheer horror that I thought I’d lost you, but I remembered as I worked on repairs. Been trying to get things up and running; making more progress every day. Oh, Rose, I’ve missed you.”

“Miss you too.” She drags her finger up along the surface of the water to touch his face. The water ripples in the wake of her finger, and his image distorts. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t.” He reaches out to touch the screen.

Rose bites her lip to quell a smile, looking between the two of them. “So this is what it’s like to watch us.”

The Doctor blinks and glances at her. “Oh! Well if it isn’t the fellow Metacrisis!” He beams a smile, and whips out his glasses, sliding them into place.

“Hello.” She grins, tongue at her teeth. “Do we need some sort of secret handshake?”

He laughs. “We’re a rare breed, you and me. Unique beyond imagining, even compared to each other.” He winks, and then leans closer, tongue pressing against his top teeth as he studies her with an awed look in his eyes.  “Blimey, you’re incredible.”

Butterflies flutter in her stomach, and her face grows warm. He’s so much like the Doctor—he  _is_ the Doctor—that it’s impossible to keep her innate reactions to him at bay, given that his wife is sitting right next to her. His wife, who is herself—and that just makes this all the more barmy. But before she knows it, he’s studying one of the exposed branches of translucent, vein-like circuitry at her naked shoulder, and shakes her long hair over it self-consciously.

The older Rose clears her throat. “It’s rude to stare, Doctor.”

He pulls back, affecting more of a professional interest. “Er, sorry.”

Rose blushes even more deeply, and looks down at her fingers in the water. “So, ah, how’s the human side treating you?”

“Oh, you know. I’m rather smelly at the moment. But that’s not the worst of it—ugh. Rhinoviruses, blemishes, random aches and pains! And you never told me how hard it was on your body to do so much running. I’ve even more respect for you now, Rose.”

Rose smirks. “At least you can eat, yeah?”

“Oh, yes. All the time.”

“He really packs it in. Keep telling him his fit metabolism’ll only last so long now.” The other Rose grins.

“Oi, I get enough exercise.” He sniffs.

“My metacrisis went with the hologram interface on that. Can taste as much as I want, at least.”

The Doctor’s amused expression falls. “Oh, that's definitely not good at all.” He frowns and punches a few buttons on the console. “You know, er, Rose, it was very hard for me to adjust at first. So used to my Time Lord senses—and they’re still there, but not quite as accessible. Food, for instance! Could taste every nuance, every molecule. Still can when it comes to ingredients, to an extent, but—I couldn’t tell you what sort of soil in which the vegetable grew, or how the animal was treated, like I could before. Often I miss it, but there are benefits in other areas that I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

He and the other Rose smile at each other, and fall into sort of a gaze-trance. Rose watches the Doctor’s eyes track around his Rose’s face, and as he does, his expression shifts ever so subtly to one of immeasurable longing. His head tilts, and his Rose bites her lip, her eyelashes fluttering as she smiles shyly.

Rose shifts awkwardly. Though he’s not looking at her, she feels a blush rising to her own cheeks all the same.

“Sorry I trapped her here.”

The Doctor turns to her, shaking his head. “Oh, Rose. I know she’s safe there with you.”

“ _She’s_  safe here with  _me_ , you mean,” the older Rose says with a teasing smirk.

“She’s right,” says Rose, grinning. “I’d be lost without myself.”

The Doctor nods sagely. “Well, of course.”

The two Roses share a laugh, slouching against each other.

At last, the older Rose takes a breath. “So, how much longer do you think?”

“Eh, approximately two days for full recovery, though since I realised you might be in the Heart, I’ve been concentrating on the needed repairs in that area, and I’m nearly finished. A couple hours, give or take.” He wipes his brow with the back of his hand. “Speaking of—I probably should get back to it.”

“Aw, can’t we watch you work?” the older Rose asks.

He lifts his chin, smug. “Well, I mean—I  _suppose._  If you like that sort of thing.”

She laughs. “I’m joking! I mean, not really, but—you know.”

Rose smirks at her older self. “ _I_  know.”

“’Course you do.” They share a knowing grin.

The Doctor clears his throat. “Erm…”

Rose smiles at them, her cheeks starting to ache as her heart curls in her chest. He’s so much like the Doctor, yet he’s also his own person. And he’s making the most of his one human life like there’s nothing else he’d rather do. She makes a decision right then, tears in her eyes. “Doctor?”

“Yes, Rose?”

“Thank you. In case we don’t get to speak again.”

“What for?” He smiles warmly at her.

“For just… I think talking to you helped me end a war I’ve been having with myself.”

“What’s that?” His initially puzzled expression shifts with realization. “Ooh—wait. I think I know. In that case, it was my pleasure. And at least now I know my other self is in good hands.”

“And I know the same.” Rose grins at him. “The best hands.”

“Absolutely!” He waggles his eyebrows.

Both Roses laugh, and the older Rose blows a kiss. “See you soon then, Doctor.”

He smiles, humming. “See you.”

Rose waves. “Bye!”

They remove their hands from the water, and the image fades away. The crayfish, who had evidently found it safe to emerge at some point, flits back to his rock shelter.

The older Rose turns to Rose. “What was it you thanked him for? Wasn’t quite in on that bit.”

Rose watches one of the last patches in her right arm heal over. “He just seemed so at ease with who he is. So happy with you. I just realised that… well, I thanked him for helping me reinforce my decision that this hologram thing—it’s my life. It’s what I  _want_  to be. Even if there’s some technology out there that could clone DNA and make a physical body for me, I wouldn’t want that. Don’t want to be an ordinary human again—no offense. Just can’t imagine what it’s like anymore after everything I’ve overcome.”

The older Rose scoots back to sit on a root. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

“But it affects you, yeah? Like right now. You’re here, and I can’t promise that it won’t ever happen again, you know? Don’t even think there’s a way I can warn you.”

“It’s okay, really. S’like our version of a video call. We can keep in touch across universes.” The older Rose smiles.

“Yeah, except this time was more like a video call in a house fire.”

The older Rose laughs, and then sobers somewhat. “Well, you’ll probably live a long life, right? Someday I won’t be able to join you here.”

Rose joins her older self on the root-bench. “Let’s not think about that.”

“Why not? It’s inevitable.” She sighs, shaking her head. “The Doctor has a daughter, did you know?”

Rose’s stomach drops, and she scrambles through her memories to recall what he’d said in the past. “He said once he was a dad. Figured he meant on Gallifrey.”

“No, not that. A  _new_  daughter. She was created during one of his travels with Donna—a spontaneously generated anomaly, so, she’s just born from his DNA. She’s called Jenny. Anyway, she ended up in our universe when the stars were going out. Walls between universes were thin…her shuttlecraft crashed, and Torchwood went to investigate. Should’ve seen the Doctor’s face.”

Rose feels a pang of emotion, though which one she can’t quite discern. So many begin to churn in her stomach, that she’s not able to hang on to one long enough to define it. She digs her bare toe in the moss at her feet. “Why are you telling me?”

“’Cos, I think the Doctor might like to know that she’s alive, and she’s safe and happy with us. The Doctor—my Doctor—he’s been teaching her how to fly the TARDIS.” The older Rose smirks a bit, and then looks down.

“Oh, that’s…” Rose sighs, not really knowing what to say. After a few minutes of silence between them, Rose changes the subject. “How’s mum?”

“She’s great.” The older Rose smiles. “Tony’s growing up so fast.”

“Oh, Tony… I miss that kid.”

“Yeah, he’s amazing. Loves the Doctor to bits, you should see ‘em.” She sighs. “How’s Mickey? Have you seen ‘im?”

Rose nods. “I have. He’s married now—Martha.”

“Really? Get out. That’s… that’s really nice.” She smiles briefly before she looks down, brows drawing together. “I miss him.”

“I know.” Rose looks down as well. “Hey, tell me more about mum? How are her and Pete getting on?”

The older Rose smiles. “They’re happy.”

They fall into an easy conversation then, exchanging stories about the loved ones that they’ll miss in their respective universes. A couple hours pass, and the light of day begins to fade around them. Just as Rose was about to suggest that they go for a walk, a surge of static strikes her, coursing through her body and making her cry out in pain. The translucent patches of circuitry brighten and spark, and more appear that had before healed over.

“Oh, no!” says the older Rose. “It’s happening!”

“I think I’m—oh!” Rose shudders as another shock hits her. “TARDIS must be repaired!”

“Shit! Come on, Doctor!” The older Rose stands, and helps Rose up. “Here, come to the tree.”

Rose nods and stands up with unsteady footing. They cross the short distance to the central tree, and lean against it once more.

“Gonna try to go back now,” says the older Rose. “Think it’ll work? Together.”

Rose winces. “Yeah, let’s.”

“Good seeing you again,” says the older Rose with a smile.

“Same.” Rose smiles, and her other self fades away. She blinks, frowning at how fast she’d gone. After giving the forest one last sweeping glance, she looks up at the central tree.

She closes her eyes, clears her mind, and for a time, all that exists is the darkness behind her eyelids. At last, the atmosphere shifts around her, and she can feel a gentle vibration across her every atom—the hum of the TARDIS. She stays there, letting that sound flow through her mind. She feels so at peace, so warm and relaxed. Thoughts remain at bay, and she loses track of exactly how long she’s in this state until she hears a voice calling her name.

“Rose?”

Rose opens her eyes, and a face swims into view with dark, friendly eyes and brown skin.

“Martha. Hello,” Rose says, her voice hoarse.

The room beyond Martha is dim, but she can still make out the innumerable shelves of books stretching up the walls. There’s a warm fire nearby, crackling, and soft cushions at her back. Light and shadow dance along her surroundings, illuminating a glint of stained glass in a wrought iron lamp on a table a few steps away. She looks back up at her friend.

“You’re awake!” Martha smiles. “It worked! Doctor? Wake up!”

Rose cranes her head up to see the Doctor in a nearby chair, sleeping, with a book over his lap and his specs slipping down his nose. He shifts in his sleep and stretches. “Rose…”

“Doctor,” Rose says with a weary smile, and his eyes pop open.

“Rose!” He leaps out of the chair, specs and book falling to the floor, and practically shoves Martha out of the way to kneel at her side. He seeks out her hand and grasps it with both of his.

Rose smiles up at him. “Missed me?”

He kisses her hand in answer, over and over, making her laugh.

“Understatement of the century,” Martha says, standing. “Hasn’t left this room in  _days._ ”

The Doctor leans forward and kisses Rose’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was hit by a lorry. Would normally want a cuppa right about now…How did I get here?”

“You appeared on the jump seat a few days ago, unconscious, with a fever and chills. Looked pale as a ghost, so, we brought you here to rest,” says Martha.

“A fever?” Rose sits up and looks down at herself—no circuits in the shape of veins. No pinpricks of light in the shape of an arm, just completely restored. In fact, she’s even fully clothed. Real clothes, from the feel of it. She touches her earlobe; the earrings the Doctor had made for her are in place.

The Doctor pulls her to him mid-inspection, and wraps his arms around her so tightly that she loses her breath.

“Oof!” Rose laughs and returns his embrace. “Was I gone long?”

 “Two weeks, Rose. Figured you went to the heart at first, because you disappeared the moment I reached you with the TARDIS,” the Doctor says, his lips moving against her temple. She shivers, her arms tightening. “And when you came back, you were unconscious and very ill.”

“I’ll leave you two be for a bit. The guys’ll be glad to know you’re up,” says Martha, and she slips out of the room.

The Doctor doesn’t move, just keeps his arms firmly in place around Rose. She closes her eyes and trails her hand up his arm to rub the back of his neck. His body relaxes in her arms, and for a few moments there’s just silence, the crackle of fire, and the sound of their breathing.

“You did it, Rose,” he says quietly, moving back to look her in the eyes. “Saved us all before tea, just like I said.”

“Seems I did, and ‘m still here.” A smile bubbles up from inside, the one she only reserves for him. It’s as automatic as breathing.

He nods, eyes shining. “Yeah.”

“Oh, by the way.” She touches his face with her fingertips, tracing the line of his jaw. “You can kiss me now.”

The Doctor smiles, and tilts his head, eyes focusing on her mouth. Her face ignites from the way he’s looking at her, spreading down through her limbs, and her lips part expectantly. He takes her face in his palms as his lips meet hers, and she can’t help the sound she makes. He pulls her to him in response, breathing through his nose in an attempt to keep himself under control. One of his hands slides through her hair, cradling the back of her head, but even through all of this, his kiss remains slow and gentle, like he’s testing to see if she’s really there. Her heart pounds in her chest, and suddenly the fireplace is much too hot. She sits up so she can angle her kisses better, arms winding around him, fingers plunging in his hair. And finally,  _finally,_  his mouth opens over hers, moving more fervently.

Footsteps enter the room, and their kiss ends with a wet smack. Rose glances over the Doctor’s shoulder to see Mickey and Jack standing there. The Doctor sighs and kisses her temple before backing away.

“Sorry,” Martha says as she enters behind them. “Tried to get them to wait.”

“Yeah, um…don’t know what else I expected,” Mickey says, averting his eyes. “In our defense, we’re not used to this sorta thing between you two.”

“Shut up and give me a hug.” Rose stands and Mickey crosses the room to do just that.

Jack grabs her from the other side and hugs both of them. “Good to see you’re awake.”

Rose’s face hurts from smiling, and her heart soars. “Good to be awake.”

Jack and Mickey step back as the Doctor reclaims her, draping an arm over her shoulders. Rose smiles and lays her head against him.

“I was in the Heart,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says, thumb brushing her wrist. “Genius failsafe, that. Oh! Speaking of…” He drops her hand and pulls out his sonic. He furrows his brow in concentration as he does a quick scan up and down over Rose’s body, and then checks the results. “Yep.”

“What?”

“Your vitals are normal.” He stares at the sonic in wonder. “Interesting.”

“That’s… good? Yeah?”

“It’s interesting.” He sniffs.

Rose arches an eyebrow, and then something strikes her. “The Eddatisans… they all right? Their planet back? And what about Trese—did you find her? All those ships…”

“Everything’s back where it should be. When it was all over, time reset for anything that’d been trapped by the rift. The planets went back to their orbits, the ships returned to their courses. Eddatsians have been escorted to their homeworld. Trese was found floating, unconscious, with just a few minutes of oxygen to spare in her suit. We brought her to the TARDIS, reunited her with her mum.”

Rose closes her eyes, feeling tears brimming. There’s a lightness in her chest that she hasn’t felt in a long time. “Couldn’t have done it without you lot,” Rose says.

“Too bad I’m taking this lot back to Earth now,” the Doctor says.

“Aw, already?” Mickey says with a put-on whine. “We was just getting’ back into the swing of it.”

“They’re probably wanting a bit of alone time,” Jack says, folding his arms.

The Doctor sighs, but doesn’t dispute him.

“Feeling all better then, Rose?” asks Mickey.

“Never better.” She smiles, but it falters. Something sinks into her stomach, piercing her calm like a needle. It draws all of her focus, and she bites her lip. “But, I just…” She swallows and shakes her head. “Nevermind.”

“Tell me,” the Doctor says, reaching for her hand again.

She looks up at him, meeting his warm gaze. “It all seems too good to be true, yeah? Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Mickey puts his hand on her shoulder. “I hear ya, Rose. Reckon there’ll always be something out there, though. Another mess to clean.”

“Yep. There’ll always be people in need of saving,” Martha says. “And it always comes with risks.”

Rose takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” She smiles, and hope radiates through her body at the feel of it. She grabs Mickey in a fierce hug, startling him at first. Then his arms go around her, and he rubs her back.

“I'm so glad you're here."

"Didn't think I'd see you again." Mickey says as they part.

"Well, you know. I'm not quite the same."

"Bullocks. I know Rose Tyler, and she's standing right here in front of me."

Rose smiles and averts her eyes. “Shut up.”

"Let's carry on in the console room, shall we?" The Doctor says, and heads for the door. Rose lifts her eyebrows pointedly and follows him. The others join as well. They reach the control room and the Doctor guides the TARDIS to Earth.

As they head for the door, Martha stops by Rose and gives her a hug.

"Hope we can hang out sometime under better circumstances."

"I expect we will." Rose smiles.

Mickey and Martha exchange a hug with the Doctor.

"Back to freelance, Doctor Jones?" The Doctor asks.

"Absolutely. Gonna turn in the write-ups for this mission and head to a nice holiday island first, though."

Mickey slings am arm around her. "Hope you'll let me join you, babe."

Martha laughs. "Of course."

They had out of the TARDIS, and Jack comes to stand nearby, pulling on his greatcoat.

"Goodbye, Jack." The Doctor gestures for him to go.

“Hey, for the record, I meant nothing filthy about you two needing alone time. If I had a chance like this? Another chance with the person I love after everything we’ve been through? Couldn’t think of anything more important to me than being alone with him.”

Rose’s heart constricts at the look in Jack’s eyes. She sidles up to him and gives him a hug, not quite sure what to say—there’s more to his admission than she knows—so she just settles for a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Rosie.”

She smiles up to him. “Let’s have a chat sometime, yeah?”

He nods. “I’d like that.”

The Doctor’s shoulders slump as he watches them. “I’m sorry.”

Jack grins at that. “It’s about time, Doctor.”

“Dont push it."

"You know, Rose, there are ways out there, if you think you'd ever wanted an organic body again. Anyway—take care!"

Rose shrugs a shoulder and smiles. “See ya, Jack.”

Jack heads off, and when the door closes, Rose closes her eyes to the comforting hum of the TARDIS that fills the silence. She hears the Doctor move back to the console, and after a moment, she joins him.

 


	15. The Ratio of Freckles to Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end! Thank you so much for reading (or re-reading)!

“Welcome to Eddatsia!”

The Doctor motions with a flourish for Rose to head out first, which is unnecessary, because she’s already breezing past him before he can get the words out. He smiles and steps out of the TARDIS after her, closing the door and then shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Crystal, is it?” She asks, pausing to look at a cluster of blueish crystalline formations sprouting from the side of a nearby tree.

“In a way, yes. It’s a bit different from Earth crystals, however.” He sucks in a breath. “Don’t touch. Not sure how it’ll interact with your system yet.”

She rolls her eyes with a smirk, withdrawing her hand before making contact. “I would’ve never guessed, it growing out of a tree and all.”

“That’s just the beginning.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Take a look that way.”

He casts a glance toward the small city nestled in the valley between forested foothills. A meandering river cuts the city in half on its way through the vale, and salt on the air hints at a nearby ocean. Amid all of the breathtaking scenery is the twinkle and flash of innumerable crystals.

Rose shields her eyes from the glimmer of so many of them, growing as prolifically here as wildflowers on Earth. In the centre of the city, an enormous crystal formation stretches higher than the Shard back in London, its five spokes of varying heights gleaming against the blue sky.

“Blimey… It’s gorgeous, like a fairy kingdom. But, why isn’t everything catching on fire? Sunlight shining through crystal that huge, think it would, yeah?”

The Doctor chuckles and takes her hand, beginning their trek. “The crystals here are partially organic, and absorb energy. There’s a bit of refraction, but not enough to cause a fire. Mostly just keeps it warm.”

Their footsteps crunch on the path that leads into the valley, tiny crystal flakes clinging to their trainers. They stroll along till they reach the outskirts of a sprawling village that borders the city, where the footpath runs parallel to the river that serves as a main thoroughfare. Numerous sleek watercraft with finlike sails speed by, like cars on a motorway.

Rose laughs as she’s sprayed with a fine mist kicked up by a silver vessel as it cuts a little too close to the river’s bank. The clear droplets glisten on her skin and hair like the crystals that surround them. The Doctor swallows and reaches out to brush a bead of moisture from her cheekbone as she does the same to one that clings to his hair.

“It’s considered good luck here to get sprayed by the river.” The Doctor withdraws his hand and sticks it back into his pocket.

“Oh?” She watches a few other Eddatsians as they stroll along the same footpath ahead of them, children in tow. They’re soon sprayed by a double-decker taxiboat, and the children squeal with glee. Her eyes gloss over, and she draws in a long, steady breath. “This must be a lucky lot, then. Those boats are splashing water everywhere.”

The Doctor hums, and they resume walking. Lucky indeed, though it has nothing to do with the river. He doesn’t need to bring up that she saved this world, that it was nearly erased from existence and she risked everything to bring it back. This one and all others. He doesn’t need to mention it, because she knows. Of course she knows.

They soon enter a residential area, crossing over foot bridges where canals branch away from the main river into quaint neighborhoods.  It’s a long walk, to be sure, but it’s a peaceful one, giving them time to bounce back and forth between lively chatter and reflective silence. Eventually, Rose pauses atop one of the higher bridges to admire the designs that the canals make, spiraling like fractals into smaller channels.

She peers up through the aquamarine leaves of a tree nearby. “It’s gorgeous here, but could’ve parked closer, yeah?” Her nose wrinkles in a chiding, albeit adorable, manner.

He bumps his shoulder against hers for it, and comes to stand next to her. Their shoulders remain pressed together as she rests her head on his.

“Can’t,” he says, “Everything here is powered by the city’s core crystal. Remember how I mentioned that the crystals here absorb energy? That’s where it all goes: to the core crystal. Interferes with the TARDIS controls and such.” He sucks through his teeth. “Found out the hard way last time I came here. Took days to clean the Vendorish aardvarks from the vents, and don’t get me started on the walls turning to jam when I tried to demateralise. Anyway, not much farther and I’ll hail a gondola.”

She gets a mischievous glint in her eyes. “M’not tired of walking, but there’s no way I’ll turn down a chance to have you row me about while I have a little lie-in.”

“Who says I’d be the one rowing us about? They have gondoliers.”

“S’a shame, then.”

“Why’s that?”

“Dunno. Romantic.” She shrugs a shoulder. “Anyway.”

“Wouldn’t it be more romantic if I could sit with you? I’m fairly certain I’ve seen that in numerous Earth cartoons.”

“Not sure that’s the best place to learn about romance,” her words are laced with laughter, and he can’t help it. His stomach swoops at the sound of it. Reckons it always will.

“What is, then?”

She stops walking and looks up at him. “Dunno, but definitely not Pepé le Pew. ‘Sides, we don’t need all that stuff… never did really. You’ve already got me.”

Warmth fills his chest as he smiles at her and clasps her hand again. As they resume their walk, his thumb brushes over her wrist, a shared signal between them that says far more than words ever could. It’s unconscious, how they’d both taken to using it, and its varying message, however complex or simple, is always understood between them.

At last they reach a gondola dock just inside the city, where they board and settle together on one end of the elongated watercraft. They aren’t too unlike the gondolas of Earth, save for the tall, fin-like sail that sticks off the back.

“To the centre,” the Doctor says to the gondolier, a willowy Eddatsian with spiny fins along his head and arms. The gondolier nods, and pushes away from the dock with his long paddle, steering them off down the canal.

The Doctor relaxes into the curved cushions, soothed by the gentle undulation of the gondola as it cuts through the water. Rose settles between his legs, and lies back against him, head on his shoulder. Without hesitation, he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

“You’re comfortable,” she says, finding his hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Ta.” It’s all he can manage, as her bum scoots closer between his legs, and her soft hair tickles his neck. He leans down and places a kiss on her shoulder, his hearts beating faster as she sighs.

He recalls when such displays of affection between them were only figments in his mind. Wispy, flickering hopes that danced right within his grasp, and yet were snuffed out by the heavy breath of fate. Their separation had changed both of them, for certain. He’d learnt that he’d be lost without her, and then, astoundingly, that he’d be able to move on—still loving her, but able to live the rest of his life without drifting about like some pathetic ghost haunting the universe. Holding on whilst letting go.

But then she came back to him in the most bewildering of ways. Never in his long life would he have imagined such a second chance, and to think in the beginning he’d almost squandered it.

Now, he’s got his arm around her, hand splayed on her stomach, and there’s no question that he’s relaxed his stance on open affection for her. Mostly. He still can’t shake this idea that he’s unworthy of her. That he’s inevitably shrouded her with his burden as caretaker of the universe, one he should’ve carried on his own.

And likewise, there was a time when he thought it was for the best that he pretend he didn’t notice that she loved him. He’d become a master at feigning ignorance of so many things, such as the increasing potency of her touch back then, how it made his hearts gallop wildly in his chest. He knew of her willingness back then to take whatever precious thing that’d bloomed between them just a step further, and they pushed that limit as far as they could—sharing a bed, but only to talk… holding each other, but only for platonic comfort. He’d even figured out how to not quite let on that he’d wanted more, and that he’s loved her far longer than she knows. (She knew all along. All of it).

His hearts clench as Rose tilts her head to look up at him, sensing his shift in mood. The ambient buzz of the city and the gentle lapping of water against the gondola fills the silence between them as his thoughts quiet in the thrall of her gaze.

“Hey,” she says, her mouth pulling in a little frown. Her thumb brushes over his, mirroring his gesture from earlier. “You all right?”

He clears his throat. “Just lost in thought. Why?”

“S’that possible for a Time Lord?” She smiles, tongue peeking through her teeth.

He pulls a face. “Not literally, Rose. I always know exactly where I am in my thoughts.” The haughty tone dissipates as his eyes settle on the middle distance.  “Two days. It’s been two days since you awoke, and two weeks since I thought I’d lose you forever.”

“We’ll always find each other.”

He smiles, squeezing her hand. “There’s literally nothing I believe more than that, Rose Tyler.”

She kisses his knuckles and then sits up. “I cut myself this morning. Just a nick, but I was trying to cut a string off of one of my shirts, and I got my finger.” She turns slightly so she can face him.

His eyebrows lift, bemused at the abrupt turn in conversation. He waits for her to elaborate.

“Hurt like hell. I put my finger to my mouth and tasted the blood.” Her hand drifts up his arm as she speaks.

“I’m sorry, would you like me to—” he begins to search out his sonic.

“No, I healed it. But I had to make it happen, yeah? I had to consciously make it heal itself over, so I bet if I’d’ve left it alone, it would’ve taken, you know, however long cuts take to heal. And the blood tasted like metal. Real.”

He frowns. Is she still harbouring such doubts? “Oh, Rose. You don’t have to bleed to be real, especially not to me.”

She smiles briefly, hand caressing his shoulder and then sliding over to straighten his lapel. Her fingertips brush his neck accidentally. He swallows, her touches stirring the blood in his veins.

“I know. I’m not worried about that anymore. I just mean,” she licks her lips as she puts the words together. His eyes drift down to watch the motion but snap back up as she speaks.

“Things feel different ever since I woke up. I dunno; hard to explain. Like, it takes my hair time to dry in the morning, and the smell of toast makes me  _hungry._  Really, properly hungry. Like I haven’t eaten in months.”

“Probably true.”

“Yeah! And, I dunno, there’s other things. My fingernails’re growing longer.” She looks down at them. “Well, you wouldn’t know ‘cos I’ve started to bite them again.” She gives him a pointed look as he opens his mouth. “Hush. I know it’s a bad habit. Anyway, you even said I had a fever, right?”

“Yes.”

“So… I know I’m not human again, but what if, what if being out there when the rift—” She swallows and looks up at him. “What if it changed me? Made me even more, ah, lifelike, or maybe something else entirely.”

“You’ve always been lifelike.” He reaches to cradle her cheek in his hand, feeling the caress of her thoughts under her skin. “But I get what you’re saying. Your psychic shield is also quite strong. No need for those silly earrings.”

“Yeah,” she breathes, leaning into his touch. “What do you think I am now?”

“You’re Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth and time.”

She shakes her head with a chuckle. “Stop. I mean, like, am I still a holographic interface? A metacrisis human-hologram thing?”

“You’re Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth and time.”

She fidgets in exasperation, but then stills, and her face brightens with recognition. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still me.”

He nods. “You’re still you.”

“Right, I know. The changes just made me wonder, yeah?”

He nods. “I just think that not all of your data spheres were activated until after the, ehm, event. Not to mention, there are more. Newer ones. So, perhaps it was part of the programme all along. Not that the event itself changed you, but that you always would.” He glances up over her shoulder. “Look, we’ve arrived!”

The gondola knocks against the dock, and the gondolier hops off to tie it up and help them exit. The Doctor pays their fare, and they head off down a few streets towards the city centre, where the river splits at one end of a lovely park, creating an island, and flows around to meet again on the other side of the central crystal.

They stroll through the park and spend a little time people watching (Rose is particularly intrigued to see a large family pass by, the father’s belly plump in the advanced stages of pregnancy). _Think seahorses, Rose. They even have a bit of the horse-like snout and spiny fins._

After meandering barefoot down an ankle-deep waterpath, smooth stones massaging their feet, they stop to watch a play as they dry off and retie their trainers. The play is being performed in a water-filled crystal, children pointing and laughing at the antics of the actors inside. A family with two small children are standing nearby, and the father has a double-take as he catches sight of the Doctor and Rose.

He looks from Rose to the Doctor, says something to his mate as he breaks away, and approaches hesitantly.

“Please forgive my intrusion, but, are you the Doctor?”

“That I am,” the Doctor says with a bit of a preening smile, rocking on his heels.

“That must mean you—you’re…”

Rose fidgets with her hoop earring as she waits for the man to get his words out.

“Y-you’re the one.”

Rose shakes her head slightly, brow furrowing in confusion. “Pardon?”

The man, his headfins closing and folding back against his head, looks around and back to Rose but has trouble looking directly at her. “The one who saved us. No one else knows; they don’t remember… but I wasn’t here when it happened. I remember everything. Myself and a few others. Watching our planet fall into the scar in space...” He casts a glance around once more. “The rest of the planet is oblivious that they were missing from the universe.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows raise. “Ah, you’re one of the refugees. Sorry, was a bit preoccupied during everything.”

“Yes, yes. That’s quite understandable. You were rather brusque, but they said you were taking care of the one who closed the rift. A great honor that must’ve been.” He places his hand over his heart in a customary, reassuring gesture, and then is drawn back to Rose. His hand remains over his heart as he averts his eyes from her, but faces her all the same. “They said you were made of light. Light so bright that you couldn’t be touched.”

Rose glances at the Doctor and back to the man. “Who said?”

“When we were making preparations to return home, there were two men with Martha. They were discussing how you swam through space wielding a powerful force that inverted time. Brought everything back…”

“Oh, blimey.” Rose sighs. The Doctor steps up next to her but remains silent as she continues. “Look, it’s not what it sounds like. I’m not some magical being, I’m just a… a regular person, yeah? No more special than you are. I had a lot of help, besides.”

“Forgive me, but I must disagree. I cannot survive in space. I cannot turn into light and invert time.”

“Maybe not—not that I did those things myself in the way you think, mind, but that doesn’t mean you’re less significant. If not for you and your crew, we might not’ve figured things out in time, right, Doctor?” He nods, and she resumes. “You lot thought quickly, put yourselves in stasis and set a course for the nearest populated planet. It was your ship on Earth that put the final piece of the puzzle together for everyone. See? Everything connects. We’re all important; we all played a role.”

The Doctor recognizes the subtle shift in the man’s posture, how he gradually transforms from a state of unworthy reverence to one of reassured confidence, headfins opening and relaxing. The Doctor’s all too familiar with how her nature affects people. His hand clenches at his side, wanting to reach for hers, but he shoves it into his pocket instead.

“Perhaps you’re right, but still, we owe you our sincerest thanks. I’m just not sure how ever we could—“

Rose smiles and places her hand over her heart. “It’s all right. You aren’t in our debt or anything. ‘M just happy that you’re all safe. That’s enough for me, got it?”

He nods, smiling for the first time. “Yes. Oh…you have to meet the others. Are you here long? They’d be overjoyed to see you and—” He looks around them, over their shoulders. “Where is the one called Martha? She cared so well for us.”

“It’s just us, and I’m afraid that we’re not here much longer,” the Doctor says.

Rose smiles, adding. “But we’ll come back soon and bring Martha with us, right Doctor? Think she’d mind?”

“Oh, Martha’d be thrilled to find herself among another fishlike society.” He sniffs.

The man nods. “I’ll let you go, then. I’m sure you’d like to embark on your marital retreat.”

“Yes, we—” The Doctor blinks, head tilting. “Hang on, our—what?”

“You’d just emerged from the ritual path when I noticed you.” He gestures to the stone-floored waterpath where they’d walked barefoot just moments before. “Am I being presumptive? The path is used for no other purpose.”

“Er…” the Doctor and Rose exchange a glance.

“Right, we’re, ah, not sure if we did it right, being from offworld and everything. Could you explain the ritual to us, please?” Rose asks. “All of it. Sorry.” She gives a cringing sort of smile.

“Um, of course. After your ceremony and three weeks of separation, you both meet at the beginning of the path, remove your footwear, and walk the path’s length until the end. That cements the wedding ritual, and then you are free to enjoy each other’s company. For that, many go on a marital retreat.” He smiles. “Three weeks is a long time to be apart.”

The Doctor glances down at Rose. “Think we overdid that part of it.”

“Yeah. A bit.” Rose meets his gaze, her eyes softening. There’s a touch of sorrow there, right at the corners, in her brow, and he wants to kiss it away, but he instead reaches for her hand.

Rose blinks and the spectre of sorrow fades. She squeezes his hand, biting her bottom lip as she smiles.

“Thank you, er—what was your name?” The Doctor turns back to the man, to find he’d already returned to his family, arm draped around his mate’s shoulders as their children hug their legs.

“Reckon we should go on our marital retreat, then.” Rose says with a cheeky grin.

“You bet. First stop—Eddatsian chips. We can see if your physiology has adapted to include ingestion, since you said you’re hungry. What do you say, Rose Tyler? Don’t even have to add salt, since the tuber-like plant they use to make them grows in briny water.”

Rose loops her arm through his readily. “It’s a date. On the way, you can tell me why you know so much about their chips but nothing about their marriage customs.”

He grins and looks up to the sky. “Oh, that’s easy. I’ve never needed to know about the latter.”

They begin a meandering walk, arm-in-arm, bodies close, across the park towards a row of ground-floor shops. The chippy is a tiny thing, merely a counter with stools and an awning wedged between two larger shops. They wait on the pavement until the seats clear and then eagerly take their turn.

The chips are even better than he remembers, but so is his outlook on just about everything else. Well, it’s improving at least.

Rose pops a chip into her mouth and her eyes roll back. She moans in approval and grabs his arm, chewing reflectively. He waits, respiratory bypass kicking in as his breathing halts.

She closes her eyes and swallows, licking salt from her lips. “I can taste it. Oh my god, it’s  _so good_. Have you any of these potatoes on the TARDIS?” Her eyes pop open after a few more seconds pass. “I think I did it…”

He smiles. “Yeah?”

She nods, looking off to the side as she focuses internally. “Yeah. Yeah!”

“Just a foot in your shoe, then?”

“Just a foot!”

“That’s brilliant! Oh, Rose.” They teeter on their stools to embrace, squeezing the daylights out of each other. When they part, she has tears of joy in her eyes, which she wipes away with her fingers.

“Guess I’ll find out later what happens with it, but that’s normal.” She makes a face. “Blaaaghh! I can’t believe I’m talking about that with you.”

The Doctor laughs. “Well, we are married now.”

She quiets but the smile remains. Wisps of hair blow around her face, and the sun glimmers off the crystal flakes that cling to her skin from their long walk earlier that day.

“Are we?” Her voice is so soft, hesitant.

He swallows at her query, the gravity of what he’d said hitting him a bit belatedly. “On-on Eddatsia, I reckon. But—I mean… we’d have to be  _aware_  that we’re getting married to actually be married.”

“Right, ‘course. I know.” She shakes her head, laughing sheepishly. She picks up a chip and pokes the vinegar-like condiment that has pooled on the paper.

“Though, there’s no one else I’d rather be accidentally married to than you.”

She stills and meets his eyes. “Yeah, me too.”

She drops the chip and takes his hand, and he sorely wishes that they didn’t have to park the TARDIS so far away.

 

Five hours pass when they’ve finally returned to the TARDIS to settled down for the evening. The Doctor sits in the library by the fireplace, skimming through a story cube from Querrin IV. He’s partway through a saga about an ancient battle, lovers torn apart to fight on opposite sides, when Rose walks in wearing a silk robe and fluffy slippers, her hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. She stands before the fire and pulls the band from her hair, scrunching her fingers through the slightly damp locks to let the warmth from the fire dry them further.

“It’s late. Thought you’d go to bed,” the Doctor says, setting the story cube aside. He stands and stretches. “We did a lot of walking.”

“Don’t be daft. I wouldn’t go to bed without saying goodnight.”

“Ah, right.” He smiles. “So. D’you want to go and check in on Trese and Abreen tomorrow? Think we can make it to the grand finale of the jubilee.”

She bites her lip and turns, reaching out to grab his arm by the cuff of his suit coat, pulling him towards her. Her hand seeks out his, and she twines their fingers together as she steps closer to him. “I do wanna see how they’re getting on, but—couldn’t we, maybe… I dunno. Spend time together alone for a bit?”

He releases her hand so that he can pull her against him by her waist, a slow grin crossing his face. “Ah, I think that can be arranged.”

“We are on our marital retreat, after all.” She matches his grin, nose wrinkling as she slides her arms around his neck.

His hearts speed up and his throat goes dry. There’s a warm buzz in his veins that makes him press her body closer to his. “Right.”

She lays her head on his shoulder, her breath caressing his neck, and he can feel her heart thumping against his chest. Steady and calm.

“A long time ago Mickey called you my boyfriend—“

“Mickey said that?”

“Well, he was cross, so it wasn’t a compliment. Said you’d dumped me and sailed off.”

He smirks wryly. “That sounds more like him.”

“Hush.” She laughs, her hand resting on his tie. She strokes the lined pattern idly with her fingertips. “I said you weren’t my boyfriend. You were better than that; more important. You know how long ago that was now? Back when the Slitheen crashed in the Thames.”

So that means… his old self. Something twists in his stomach, and for a moment he’s that man again. Hardened and mourning, but healing,  _still_  healing, because of her. His arms tighten around her, and he can almost hear the creak of his leather jacket.

“Best mate, boyfriend, accidental husband, whatever… you’re the Doctor and I’m Rose, and we’re together. That’s what counts for me.”

There’s a persistent lump in his throat and his eyes sting, and all he can manage is a nod. He rubs soothing circles on her back, feeling the softness of her body underneath as his fingertips graze her hips.

“So, yeah. I’d like to just be with you.” She loosens the knot of his tie and presses a kiss on his throat.  “Here, or maybe in my bed. Or yours, whichever.”

Their eyes meet then, and he nods, knowing just what she’s getting at. His thumb brushes her back through the fabric of her robe. “We can go to mine.”

She says nothing but grasps his hands and begins to tow him towards the door. Enthralled, he lets her pull him along, and it feels like he’s floating, like there’s a string tying them together and he’ll gladly go wherever she takes him. His hearts quicken as she flashes a coy smile when they enter the corridor.

“I don’t know the way,” she says, chin tilting towards her shoulder shyly.

It’s his turn to say nothing as he cuts his eyes ahead to a door just a few paces away. His room is always where he needs it to be. She follows his glance, and they begin to move towards it. He’s no longer sure who is pulling and who is drifting, but it’s not long before they’re inside and in each other’s arms.

His mouth is on hers before she can even get a look around, but she hardly seems to mind. Her arms wind around his shoulders, and their hands are everywhere at once. Sliding through hair, pulling up shirttails, skimming down backs. Lips meet and part, only to meet again with each article of clothing tossed to the floor. Her slippers, his tie, his jacket, his oxford.

The Doctor parts her robe as her warm hand slips under his Henley, making his breath catch. He presses his lips to her collarbone, and across her shoulder to the freckle there as he pulls down the collar of the flimsy silken garment. Her head falls to the side as he hooks his thumb under the thin spaghetti strap, his kisses returning to her exposed throat. She’s panting, fingers hooked on his trousers, and his skin is burning under her touch. She’s letting down her shields, and soon her fingertips alone have the power to bring him to his knees. But he holds his guard.

Backing up, he guides her along with him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. She stands before him and their hands fall away from each other. Her eyes track around his room. The robe slips from her shoulders and pools at her feet. Then with one swift motion, the nightie is gone as well. Stepping forward, her hands spread over his chest and slide up to his shoulders and farther till she’s cradling his face in her palms. Her thumbs brush his sideburns, and her mouth quirks.

“Your room is exactly how I imagined it would be.” Her eyes flick upward. “Ceiling window to the stars and everything.”

“You’ve been imagining what my room looks like, have you?” He’s unable to take his eyes off of her and just stands there like a lovestruck fool, arms hanging limp by his sides. She lifts up on her toes to kiss his lips.

“More often than I’d like to admit.”

He leans forward so their foreheads touch, and she closes her eyes, a smile still lingering on her lips.

His hands drift forward and rest on her waist. “I want to, ehm…”

“Yeah, me too,” she whispers, and his eyes flutter closed in response.

Their minds connect effortlessly, and just as before, it feels like coming home. She lets him in a little deeper, giving him access to the layers of thought that weave a rich tapestry through her mind. He’s careful not to go too far, only as far as she’ll allow, and soon he can feel her mind flowing into his with the same gentle caress.

It’s all in an instant that their feelings merge. Her sorrow at never seeing her mother again becomes his own. The guilt he harbours that one day she’ll know death as an old friend, becomes her guilt. She knows of his longing for her, his relief that they’re safe and together. He knows of her love for him, and of her trepidation, her fear of whether she’ll be able to feel him moving inside of her. That one in particular is most acute, and stings as it slips by.

He kisses her and focuses, allowing his love for her to soothe the ache. She exhales, the worry line between her brows softening as she melds her body against his. Her breasts brush his chest, and her hand finds his trousers once more, and perhaps it should be embarrassing how little it takes for her to make him this aroused. If he were human.

Once his clothes are off, he sits on the bed and she joins him, coming to rest upon his lap. Their arms are soon entwined, diving into a heated kiss that sends him reeling. Her tongue chases his, his fingers entangle in her hair, teeth tug at each other’s lips, and he groans as his erection brushes against the heat between her legs. They’re both going to teeter over the edge far too soon, and so he moves to place languid kisses on her shoulder, his hands slowly sliding up her sides to cup her breasts. She sighs softly, her movements relaxing, but there’s no less passion between them.

She arches into his touch, pads of his thumbs teasing her nipples into tight pebbles. He uses the momentum of her arch to lay her back against his bed, kissing down her chest as they go. Her bum lifts as she adjusts her position, and he finds himself between her legs, gazing down at her. There’s still a bit of crystal dust that the shower missed, making her glisten here and there as she begins to perspire. He could spend an eternity here, connecting crystals to her few freckles, creating constellations and galaxies on her skin.

She strokes a hand down her body, over her breast, down to her abdomen, and he blinks out of his benediction. Seeing her there amid his blankets renews the surge of insistent desire that had swept through them just moments before, but he reins it in. Despite her keening sounds and undulating hips, he knows she’s worried about what’s to come.

He leans down to kiss her once more, and her hands slide around to roam over his back, feeling his shoulder blades, the mole between them, his spine, and farther down to grasp his bum. He kisses down to her breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth. She’s needy for him, hips rocking to seek him out, and his hand drifts down between their bodies towards her curls.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, but…”

He stills, fingers resting at her mound. She reaches between them and takes his hand, moving it away, as her other hand seeks out his erection.

“I have to know this way.”

He nods, sucking in a breath as her warm hand encircles him. He kisses her jaw as he lets her guide him, the head of his cock teasing open her outer folds. He can feel her anticipation, and it matches his own, as he gently rocks forward, sliding himself through, getting slicker as the underside of his cock brushes over her. She moans and tilts her hips and on his next gentle thrust, he’s sinking inside of her.

Groaning, he drifts over her as he slides all the way in, gazing down at her face the whole time. Her eyes are closed, and it’s a struggle to keep his open as her slick warmth envelopes him. A vastly different sensation than the last time, when he felt very little other than her utter despair. He waits, breath caught in his chest, as he feels her tighten around him.

Her face relaxes, the worry melting away as a smile sets her face alight. She squeezes her eyes closed, brows drawing together, as tears slip down her temples and get caught in her hair. He kisses the tear tracks and seeks out her lips. They kiss lightly, noses bumping, and he feels her tremble beneath him.

“I can feel you,” she whispers, her legs wrapping around his hips. “God, you feel gorgeous.”

“So do you.”

“Keep moving,” she breathes. “Don’t ever stop.”

He pulls back and pushes gently into her again, and again, starting off with a slow rhythm as they adjust to each other. As her moans and pleas for more increase, he finally relents to the build of pleasure, and his thrusts run deeper and harder. She’s so beautiful, her hair splayed on his pillow, his name on her lips, and he can hardly take it anymore. He burrows his face into her neck, his pace now erratic as he fights off his body’s need for release.

“Rose,” he chokes as her fingers grasp at his hips, digging in. She’s growing quiet, her body tensing. He keeps on, right there at that angle where it’s making her breath shake. He’s there with her at the edge, and it’s taking everything he’s got to keep from flying apart before her.

And then mercifully, her body arches, hands grasping the blankets as she shouts her release. The spark of euphoria races through her, and into him through their joined minds. He follows her in that moment, and the tingling bliss dances between them as he lets go inside of her. He’s not sure how long they drift in the afterglow, but eventually he groans and collapses off to the side. Rose keeps them joined as she rolls with him.

Eventually, as they’ve both calmed, Rose gets up to visit the loo. The Doctor lays there, staring up through the domed ceiling and the clusters of stars twinkling in the canopy of space. His mind is blessedly calm, probably for the first time in decades.

Rose returns and slides into bed next to him, her soft skin touching his and rousing him once more. They go for another round, her sitting atop him with her head thrown back, his hands holding her hips so he can get the angle right. That time, he comes first and she follows quickly after, and after joining her in the shower, they finally settle into the bed to rest, minds tucked back inside their own heads. They face each other under the blankets with her hand over his on the pillow between them, eyes locked together.

The Doctor pokes out his bottom lip.

"What is it?" she asks, her voice raw from their lovemaking.

"You're not glowing." He squints. "Well, not as much."

She laughs. "Can't say I'm sad about losing that ability, but you know it was good."

He gives her a smug grin. "Yeah."

“Remember when we used to lie like this before? I mean, we weren’t naked, but…”

“Of course.”

She smiles, biting her lip. “Keep feeling like there’s a catch, you know? Like I’m gonna wake up and I’ll be alone in my bed back in the other universe.”

“I know the feeling. But I suppose, if we’re honest… the catch is that you’re in it for the long haul, and you can’t possibly know what that means. Living for centuries is,” he sucks in a breath, “It’s hard. Everyone you care for dying all the time. You don’t know what it’s like to live a long life.”

She makes a face. “Just a bit rude, that.”

“Too frank?”

“For after sex.”

He balks, hand drifting up to scratch the back of his head. “Oh, bugger. Sorry, not really my area of expertise.”

She smiles, biting the nail of her thumb.

“I’ve ruined it. We’re going to have to start all over.” He shakes his head, and drops his hand to his hip in mock exasperation.

Rose laughs, and his stomach swoops at the sound of it—there it goes again.

“Anyway,” she hedges, “I might not know what it’s like to live a long life, but you do.”

He nods slightly. “But, you… you could live a long life. However long the TARDIS lives, perhaps. Not to mention, I have a few regenerations left in me, so I’ll change again.” He looks up. “Huh.”

Her expression grows pensive. “What?”

“Wonder if I’ll still become that version of me in this timeline, or if it’ll be someone else.”

Rose brings his hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles. “Then I’ll get to fall in love with you again.”

He smiles. “What if I’m old and grumpy?”

“Well, you’re already pretty old, and I think I can handle grumpy.” She scoots closer to him, wedging her knee between his legs.

He hums and wraps his arms around her. “There’s not much you couldn’t handle, Rose Tyler.”

“Might you regenerate into a woman? Does it work like that?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

She’s quiet after that, and he begins to panic, wondering if that’s the deal breaker. He opens his mouth to elaborate—he’s not once yet had a female body, so the chances are slim—

“I won’t change. I’ll just be me for—” Her voice breaks, and she takes a steadying breath. “What if you change and I’m not—you won’t get tired of me being the same?”

He sighs in relief, but his heart sinks as she reveals her worries. “No! No, oh, Rose… no. I could never. You might not change physically, but you’ll not be the same century to century. Some people change multiple times in one year, in fact. But, either way you’ll always be Rose Tyler. And, I love Rose Tyler, so I consider myself lucky.”

She smiles, her eyes shining. “And you’ll always be the Doctor to me, yeah? Whether you’ve got on a bowtie or breasts.”

“What if I’ve got a bowtie  _and_  breasts?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Sounds quite sexy.”

He laughs. “I’ll give it my best shot, then.”

Her giggles fade as her eyes roam his hairline, his brow, the bridge of his nose and down to his bottom lip. “I won’t lie, I’m rather fond of this face.” She touches his jaw softly. “And this body.” Her hand lowers as she drapes her arm over his side, fingers crawling his back.

He swallows thickly. “That’s very human of you.”

She nestles in closer to him, her head resting just under his chin. He can feel her smiling against his chest, and his hearts swell to the size of a galaxy. She draws in a breath to speak, but her words don’t come till a few seconds later.

“Are you all right with everything?”

“Hmm?”

“You know, all of this. Being in a new timeline and knowing there’s another version of you carrying on.” She pauses, and then adds softly. “And Gallifrey, what happened with Gallifrey?”

He exhales as varying emotions bubble up, and reaches over to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’m all right. We’ve handled the worst of it, I’m certain. Gallifrey—it’s destroyed, Rose.”

She looks up at him. “But I thought you said you brought it back.”

“Not in this timeline—aha, I do still remember, then.” He reflects on that for a moment before continuing. “As for the other version of me, I have to admit, it is unsettling… though I can’t worry about that anymore. He’s a version of me I hadn’t yet become, and might not ever be. Whatever he gets up to won’t affect us any longer now that the timelines are separate. I suppose I finally feel like I can enjoy my life. Everything was rather bleak for so long.”

“You deserve it.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“No, really. What next, then? Let’s hear it. What would you like to do with this second chance?” Her words slur a bit from drowsiness.

“Weeeelllll—” And he’s not sure what all he says next, there’s all this possibility, and Rose is in his arms, and there’s a cocktail of hormones drifting through his system that he hasn’t experienced in a rather long time, so he just admits it all. All out loud, right there for her to hear. He’d like to see if there’s a way to save Donna’s memories. He’d like to meet a few other historical figures on Earth and other planets out there. He’d like to show Rose all the things he meant to show her the first time around before their time was cut short. A few minutes of running his gob passes before he realises that Rose’s breathing has evened out, and her hand had grown still on his back.

“Rose?”

Silence. Smiling, he kisses her forehead and settles against the pillow, which makes her stir.

“M’sorry.” Her voice is muffled against his chest. “Your voice is so nice. What’d I miss?”

He chuckles. “We’ll talk more about it another time, you’re tired.”

“Mmm. Love you.” She kisses his chest and her breathing evens out once more.

It’s not long before sleep claims him as well, and for the first time in centuries, his dreams bring him peace.

 


End file.
